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%•  '"A  '  '•"  •      • 

•>  -  '  %  '*•    •• '   *".•".,• 

SELECT 
COLLECTION 

O  F 

ENGLISH    SONGS. 

IN   THREE    VOLUMES. 

V~A,UME   THE    SECOND. 


— —  APIS  MATINJZ 
MORE   MODOQUE 

GRATA  CARPENTIS  THYMA  PER  LABOREM 
PLURIMUM. 

HOR. 


LONDON: 

Printed  for  J.  JOHNSON  in  St.  Pauls  Church-yard. 
MDCCLXXXIII. 


i^ 

S3 


. 

DRINKING     SONGS. 


SONG     I. 
THE    HONEST    FELLOW. 

PHO  !  pox  o'this  nonfenfe,  I  prithee  give  o'er, 
And  talk  of  your  Phillis  and  Chloe  no  more  ; 
Their  face,  and  their  air,  and  their  mien — what  a  rout ! 
Here's  to  thee,  my  lad  ! — pulh  the  bottle  about. 

Let  finical  fops  play  the  fool  and  the  ape  ; 
They  dare  not  confide  in  the  juice  of  the  grape  : 
But  we  honeft  fellows — 'fdeath  !  who'd  ever  think 
Of  puling  for  love,   while  he's  able  to  drink. 

3Tis  wine,  only  wine,  that  true  pleafure  beftows ; 
Our  joys  it  increafes,  and  lightens  our  woes  j 
Remember  what  topers  of  old  us  'd  to  fing, 
The  man  that  is  drunk  is  as  great  as  a  king. 

VOL.  II,  B  JTi» 


2  DRINKING    SONGS'. 

If  Cupid  aflaults  you,  there's  law  for  his  tricks  ; 
Anacreons  cafes,  fee  page  twenty-fix  : 
The  precedent 's  glorious,  and  juft  by  my  foul ; 
Lay  hold  on,  and  drown  the  young  dog  in  a  bowl. 

What's  life  but  a  frolic,  a  fong,  and  a  laugh  ? 
My  toaft  fhall  be  this,  whilft  I've  liquor  to  quaff", 
May  mirth  and  good  fellowfhip  always  abound  : 
Boys,  fill  up  a  bumper,  and  let  it  go  rouad. 


SONG    II. 
"ROUND    O.  " 

BETTER  our  heads  than  hearts  fhould  ake, 
Loves  childifh  empire  we  defpife  ; 
Good  wine  of  him  a  flave  can  make, 
And  force  a  lover  to  be  wife. 

Wine  fweetens  all  the  cares  of  peace, 
And  takes  the  terror  off  from  war  ; 

To  loves  affliction  it  gives  eafe, 
And  to  our  joys  does  beft  prepare, 

Better  our  heads  than  hearts  mould  ake, 
Loves  childifh  empire  we  defpife ; 

Good  wine  of  him  a  flave  can  make, 
And  force  a  lover  to  he  wife. 


SONG 


DRINKING    SONGS.  3 

SONG     III. 

SOME  fay  women  are  like  the  feas, 
Some  the  waves,  and  fome  the  rocks  ; 
Some  the  rofe  that  foon  decays  ;     N 

Same  the  weather,  and  fome  the  cocks : 
But  if  you'll  give  me  leave  to  tell, 
There's  nothing  can  be  compar'd  fo  well, 
As  wine,  wine,  women  and  wine,  they  run  in  a  parallel. 

Women  are  witches,  when  they  will, 

So  is  wine,  fo  is  wine  ; 
They  make  the  ftatefman  lofe  his  fkill, 

The  foldier,  lawyer,  and  divine  ; 
They  put  a  gig  in  the  graveft  fkull, 
And  fend  their  wits  to  gather  wool : 
JTis  wine,  wine,  women  and  wine,  they  run  In  a  parallel. 

What  is't  that  makes  your  vifege  fo  pale  ? 
What  is't  that  makes  your  looks  divine  ? 
What  is't  that  makes  four  courage  to  fail  ? 

Is  it  not  women  ?  Is  it  not  wine  ? 
}Tis  wine  will  make  you  fick  when  you're  well ; 
'Tis  women  that  make  your  forehead  to  fwell  : 
'Tis  wine,  wine,  women  and  wine,  they  run  in  a  parallel. 

SONG     IV. 

THE  women  all  tell  me  I'm  falfe  to  my  lafs, 
That  I  quit  my  poor  Ghloe,  and  ftick  to  my  glafs ; 
But  to  you  men  of  reafon,  my  reafons  I'll  own  ; 
And  if  you  don't  like  them,  why— let  them  alone. 

B  2  They 


4  DRINKING    SONGS. 

Although  I  have  left  her,  the  truth  I'll  declare  ; 
I  believe  me  was  good,  and  I'm  fare  fhe  was  fair  ; 
But  goodnefs  and  charms  in  a  bumper  I  fee, 
That  make  it  as  good  and  as  charming  as  me. 

My  Chloe  had  dimples  and  fmiles,  I  mufl  own  ; 

But,  though  (he  could  fmile,  yet  in  truth  me  could  frown  : 

But  tell  me,  ye  lovers  of  liquor  divine, 

Did  you  e'er  fee  a  frown  in  a  bumper  of  wine  ? 

Her  lilies  and  rofes  were  juft  in  their  prime  ; 
Yet  lilies  and  rofes  are  eonquer'd  by  time  : 
But  in  wine,  from  its  age  fuch  a  benefit  flows, 
That  we  like  it  the  better  the  older  it  grows. 

They  tell  me  my  love  would  in  time  have  been  cloy'd, 
And  that  beauty's  infipid  when  once  'tis  enjoy'd  ; 
But  in  wine  i  both  time  and  enjoyment  defy  ; 
For  the  longer  I  drink,  the  more  thirfty  am  I. 

Let  murders,  and  battles,  and  hiftory  prove 

The  miichiefs  that  wait  upon  rivals  in  love  ; 

But  in  drinking,  thank  heaven,  no  rival  contends, 

For  the  more  we  love  liquor,  the  more  we  are  friends, 

She  too  might  have  poifon'd  the  joy  of  my  life, 
With  nurfes  and  babies,  and  fqualling,  and  flrife  ; 
But  my  wine  neither  nurfes  nor  babies  can  bring  ; 
And  a  big-bellied  bottle 's  a-mighty  good  thing. 

We 


DRINKING    SONGS.  5 

We  morten  our  days  when  with  love  we  engage, 

It  brings  on  difeafes  and  haflens  old  age ; 

But  wine  from  grim  death  can  its  votaries  fave, 

And  keep  out  t'other  leg,  when  there's  one  in  the  grave. 

Perhaps,  like  her  fex,  ever  falfe  to  their  word, 
She  had  left  me  to  get  an  eftate,  or  a  lord  ; 
But  my  bumper  (regarding  nor  title  nor  pelf) 
Will  Hand  by  me  when  I  can't  ftand  by  myfe'lf. 

Then  let  my  dear  Chloe  no  longer  complain  ; 
She's  rid  of  her  lover,  and  I  of  my  pain  ; 
For  in  wine,  mighty  wine,  many  comforts  I  fpy; 
Should  you  doubt  what  I  fay,  take  a  bumper  and  try. 


SONG     V. 

SHE  tells  me  with  claret  (he  cannot  agree, 
And  me  thinks  of  a  hogfhead  whene'er  me  fees  me; 
For  I  fmell  like  a  beaft,  and  therefor  muft  I, 
Refolve  to  forfake  her,  or  claret  deny. 
Muft  I  leave  my  dear  bottle,  that  was  always  my  friend, 
And  I  hope  will  continue  fo  to  my  lifes  end  ? 
Muft  I  leave  it  for  her .?  'tis  a  very  hard  talk  : 
Let  her  go  to  the  devil  ! — bring  the  other  full  flaik. 

Had  me  tax'd  me  with  gaming,  and  bid  me  forbear, 
'Tis  a  thoufand  to  one  I  had  lent  her  an  ear : 
Had  me  found  out  my  Sally,  up  three  pair  of  ftairs, 
I  had  balk'd  her  and  gone  to  St.  ]ameses  to  prayers. 

B  3  Nauture, 


6  DRINKING    SONGS. 

Had  me  bad  me  read  homilies  three  times  a  day, 
She  perhaps  had  been  humour'd  with  little  to  fay ; 
But,  at  night,  to  deny  me  my  bottle  of  red, 
Let  her  go  to  the  devil !—  there's  no  more  to  be  faid. 

SONG     VI. 

BY    MR.     HENRY    CAREY. 

WITH  an  honeft  old  friend,  and  a  merry  old  fong, 
And  a  flafk  of  old  port,  let  me  fit  the  night  long; 
And  laugh  at  the  malice  of  thofe  who  repine, 
That  they  muft  fwig  porter,  while  I  can  drink  wine. 

I  envy  no  mortal,  though  ever  fo  great, 
Nor  fcorn  I  a  wretch  for  his  lowly  eftate  ; 
But  what  I  abhor,  and  efteem  as  a  curfe, 
Is  poornefs  of  fpirit,  not  poornefs  in  purfe. 

Then  dare  to  be  generous,  dauntlefs,  and  gay, 
Let's  merrily  pafs  lifes  remainder  away  j 
Upheld  by  our  friends,  we  our  foes-  may  defpife. 
For  the  more  we  are  envied,  the  higher  we  rife. 

SONG     VII. 

THE    HAPPY    LIFE. 

BY    MR.    WILLIAM   THOMPSON. 

A  Book,  a  friend,  a  fong,  a  glafs, 
A  chafte,  yet  laughter-loving  lafs, 
To  mortals  various  joys  impart, 
Inform  the  fenfe,  and  warm  the  heart. 

Thrice 


DRINKING    SONGS. 

Thrice  happy  they  who,  carelefs,  laid 
Beneath  a  kind-embowering  fhade* 
With  rofy  wreaths  their  temples  crown, 
In  rofy  wine  their  forrows  drown. 

Mean  while  the  Mufes  wake  the  lyre, 
The  Graces  modeft  mirth  infpire, 
Good-natur'd  humour,  harmlefs  wit ; 
Well-temper'd  joys,  nor  grave,  nor  light. 

Let  facred  Venus  with  her  heir, 
And  dear  lanthe  too  be  there. 
Mufic  and  wine  in  concert  move 
With  beauty  and  refining  love. 

ere  Peace  fhall  fpread  her  dove-like  wing, 
d  bid  her  olives  round  us  fpring. 
ere  Truth  fhall  reign,  a  facred  gueft  ! 
i  Innocence,  to  crown  the  reft. 

•one,  ambition,  riches,  toys, 

1  fplendid  cares,  and  guilty  joys:  — 

2  me  a  book,  a  friend,  a  glafs, 
:  a  chafte  laughter-loving  lafs. 


64  SONG 


\  DRINKING    SONGS. 

SONG     VIII. 
PLATOS     ADVICE.* 

SAYS  Plato,  why  fliould  man  be  vain, 
Since  bounteous  heav'n  hath  made  him  great  ? 
Why  look  with  infolent  difdain 

On  thofe  undeck'd  with  wealth  or  ftate  ? 
Can  fplendid  robes,  or  beds  of  down, 
Or  coftly  gems  that  deck  the  fair, 
Can  all  the  glories  of  a  crown 

Give  health,  or  eafe  the  brow  of  care  ? 

The  fcepter'd  king,  the  burthen'd  flave, 

The  humble,  and  the  haughty  die; 
The  rich,  the  poor,  the  bafe,  the  brave, 

In  duft,  without  diftin&ion,  lie. 
Go  fearch  the  tombs  where  monarchs  reft, 

Who  once  the  greateft  titles  bore  ; 
The  wealth  and  glory  they  pofiefs'd, 

And  all  their  honours  are  no  more. 

So  glides  the  meteor  through  the  fky, 

And  fpreads  along  a  gilded  train, 
But,  when  its  Ihort-liv'd  beauties  die, 

Diflblves  to  common  air  again. 
So  'tis  with  us,  my  jovial  fouls  :— 

Let  frif-ndfhip  reign  while  here  we  flay  ; 
Let's  crown  our  joys  with  flowing  bowls:— 

When  Jove  us  calls  we  muft  obey. 

*  An  alteration  of  a    poem,   written    by    the  rev.   mr.   Mathew 
(huiband  of  the  celebrated  Letitia)  Pilkington,  beginning, 
«'  Why,  Lycidas,  Ihould   man  be  vain." 

SONG 


DR  INKING    SONGS. 
SONG     IX. 

CHRQNICLE^ 


of  rt  SayVPlato,  why 
lin,"  I  have  ofttn  cxprtflcd 
compofitinn  fo   moral  and 
:  fuch  an  infamous  coticlu- 
en  aftoniflied  how  a  writer, 
i    a   feries  of  chifte,  pure, 
could  fo  inftanlly  defer!  the 
f  his  thoughts,  and  plunge 
ilian  nonftnfe,   and    fuch   a 
fcntiment,  as  the  laft  verfe. 
prefent    ftate,  is  a   monftcr. 
:  end,  like  the  head  and   tail 
10  relation.     I  have  the  plea* 
,  that,  as  I  was  lately  looli- 
i  of  the  Rev.  Matthew  Pil- 
ie  fong  in    its  original  ft*tt, 
Ode  to  Lyeidis.     It  confifts 
—The  laft  verfe  in  the  other, 
ioral  fentimcTit  of  the  whele, 
al.    I  am,  &c. 
of  AC—  D—  M—  S. 


TO    LYCIDAS. 

fliould  man  be  vain, 
heav'n  hath  made  him  great,. 
folent  difdain 
with  wealth  and  ftate? 

s,  or  beds  of  down, 

deck  the  hair, 

of  a  crown, 
.looth  the  brow  of  care  ?. 

ice,  the  hurthen'd  flave, 
the  haughty  die  ;• 
h,  the  hafe,  the  brave,. 
.ftinflion  lit; 

mbs  \vhtrtfmonarchsreft, 
heft  glories  woie, 
eur  they  pofTtft, 
Inef-  is  no  more. 

:eor  through  the  (ky, 
,'  a  eiJded  train, 
t-lwi'd  beauties  die, 
non  air  -again. 


DRINKING    SONGS. 


TEBiS, 


____ 

Knight,  jun.  Efq;  Member  for  the  county  of 
Kent,  to  Mifs  Knatchbull,  of  South  Audley- 
llreet. 

£  On  Saturday  morning   died,  in  Bloomfbnry- 

i_^  fquare,  Lady  York,  relict  of  the  late  Sir  Wm. 

•«/  York. 

On  Saturday  laft  died,  in  the  ?9th  year  of  hi? 
ag,e,  the  Rev.  Richard  Mills,  A.  M.  upwards  of 
Q  50  years  Vicar  of  Hillingdon,  in  Middlesex. 

Saturday    fe'nnight,    in  tlie  evening,    about 
f<;ven  o'clock,  as  Robert  Cliffe,  Efq;  of  Mahon, 
C  in  .Herefordshire,  in  company  with  two  or  three 

other  Gentlemen,  was  coming  from  Worcefter, 
and  riding  very  (manly,  his  horfe  nude  a  full 
ftop  it  B.-atifettVbridge  ;  by  which  unhappy 
accident  he  was  thrown  over  the  rails,  and 
killed  upon  the  fpot. 

r  ,On  Tharfday  laft  the  child  of  Mr.  Bedant, 

about  fix  months  old.,  to  all  outward  appearance 
died   of  A  convuUion  fit,  and  was  laid  out   as 
(  ufual.      Mr.  Smith,  Undertaker,  was  fent  for 

in  the  evening,  and  told  the  maid,  that  it 
ftruck  him  the  infant  was  not  dead;  upon 
which  Mr*.  Jdiicoe  and  Mrs.  Stewart,  two 
neighbours,  wtre  called  in,  and  agreed  to  ufe 
all  endeavouia  to  recover  the  child;  they  rubbed 
the  body  with  warm  flannels  and  fpirits,  and 
feht  for  a  Gentleman  of  the  Faculty,  who  de- 
fired  the  people  to  perfevere,  while  he  applied 
ibme  electrical  fhocks;  the  child  in  about  three 
'  hours  opened  her  eyes,  and  gradually  re- 
covered. 

Lift  Saturday  night  between  nine  and    ten 
o'clock,  as  the    fr'a'quis   of  Granby  was   re- 
turning in  his  carriag;  fronvlhe  Duke  of  Rut 
land's,   a  fingie   h:ghwayman   ftopped   it,  an. 
rode  up  to  the  door,  threatening  to  blow  the  ' 
Marquis'o'  brains  tut,  if  he  did.  not  deliver  his" 
(  money  ;  but  the  fool  man  behind,  inftantlyjumped 

over  the  wheel,  feized  the  highwayman  by  the 
I"1  collar,  pulled  him  off  his   horfe,  put  him  into 

a  coach,  and  carried  him  before  Sir  John  Field- 
ing at  Bromp'on,  from  whence  he  was  com- 
mitted to  prjfon  tor  re-exifninqtion. 

At  the  Rotafion-ofTce,  Liuhfitld-ftreet,  or. 
Saturday,  J(?hn,  Car.er  xvas  put  to  the  bar, 
charged  by  Wii  iam  Staines,  a  conftable,  with 
coin  ng  money;  a  great  quantity  of  counterfeit  r.\ 


DRINKING    SONGS.  9 

SONG     IX. 

GIVE  me  but  a  friend  and  a  glafs,  boys, 
I'll  fhow  ye  what  'tis  to  be  gay, 
I'll  not  care  a  fig  for  a  lafs,  boys, 
Nor  love  my  brifk  youth  away : 
Give  me  but  an  honeft  fellow, 
That's  pleafantefl  when  he  is  mellow, 
We'll  live  twenty-four  hours  a  day. 

'Tis  woman  in  chains  does  bind,  boys, 
But  'tis  wine  that  makes  us  free  ; 
is  woman  that  makes  us  blind,  boys, 
But  wine  makes  us  doubly  fee. 
le  female  is  true  to  no  man, 
iceit  is  inherent  to  woman, 
But  none  in  a  brimmer  can  be. 

SONG     X. 

me,  when  forty  winters  more, 
Have  furrow'd  deep  my  pallid  brow; 
hen  from  my  head,  a  fcanty  ftore, 
Lankly  the  wither'd  trefies  flow  ; 
hen  the  warm  tide,  that  bold  and  flrong 
Now  rolls  impetuous  on  and  free, 
inguid  and  flow  fcarce  fteals  along  ; 
Then  bid  me  court  fobriety. 

iture,  who  form'd  the  varied  fcene    . 
Of  rage  and  calm,  of  froft  and  fire, 
icrring  guide,  could  only  mean 
That  age  fhould  reafon,  youth  defire  : 

Shall 


xo  DRINKING    SONGS. 

Shall  then  that  rebel  man  prefume 
(Inverting  natures  law)   to  feize 

The  dues  of  age  in  youths  high  bloom, 
And  join  impoffibilides  i1 

No— let  me  wafte  the  frolic  May 

In  wan  too  joys  and  wild  excefs, 
In  revel  fportr,  and  laughter  gay, 

And  mirth,  and  rofy  chearfulnefs. 
Woman,  the  foul  of  all  delights, 

And  wine,  the  aid  of  love,  be  near : 
All  charms  me  that  to  joy  incites, 

Anj}  ev'jry  fhe  that's  kind,  is  fair. 

SONG     XI. 
BY     MR.     GAY.  » 

YOUTH's  the  feafon  made  for  joys, 
Love  is  then  our  duty, 
She  alone,  who  that  employs, 
Well  deferves  her  beauty. 
Let's  be  gay, 
While  we  may, 
Beauty's  a  flower  defpis'd  in  decay, 

Let  us  drink  and  fport  to-day, 

Ours  is.  not  to-morrow; 
Love  with  youth  flies  fwift  away, 
Age  is  nought  but  forrow. 
Dance  and  fmg, 
Time's  on  the  wing, 
Life  never  knows  the  return  of  fpring. 

*  In  the  Beggars  Opera, 

'5 


PRINKING    SONGS.  n 

SONG     XII. 

BY    DR.    D  ALT  ON.  * 

PREACH  not  to  me  your  mufty  rules, 
Ye  drones  that  mould  in  idle  cell ; 
The  heart  is  wifer  than  the  fchools, 
The  fenfes  always  reafbn  well. 

If  fhort  my  fpan,  I  lefs  can  ipare 

To  pafs  a  Tingle  pleafure  by  ; 
An  hour  is  long,  if  loft  in  care ; 

They  only  live,  who  life  enjoy. 

SONG     XIII.  f 

COME  now,  all  ye  focial  powers, 
Shed  your  influence  o'er  us ; 
Crown  with  joy,  the  prefent  hours, 
Enliven  thofe  before  us. 

Bring  the  flafk,  the  mufic  bring. 

Joy  (hall  quickly  find  us ; 
Drink,  and  dance,  and  laugh,  and  fing ; 

And  caft  dull  care  behind  us. 

Love, thy  godhead  I  adore, 

Source  of  generous  paffion  ; 
But  will  ne'er  bow  down  before 

Thofe  idols  wealth  or  fafhion; 
Bring  the  flafk,  &c. 

*  In  his  excellent  alteration  of  the  Mafque  of  Coma*. 
Altered  and  enlarged  from  thefnalt  of  Bickerftaffs  School  for  Fathers. 

Friendfhip 


12 

Friendfhip  with  thy  fmile  divine, 

Brighten  all  our  features  ; 
What  but  friendfhip,  love  and  wine 

Can  make  us  happy  creatures. 
Bring  the  flafk,  &c. 

Why  the  deuce  fhould  we  be  fad, 

While  on  earth  we  moulder ; 
Grave  or  gay,  or  wife  or  mad, 

We  every  day  grow  older. 
Bring  the  fla&,  &c. 

Then  fince  time  will  fteal  away 

Spite  of  ail  our  forrow  ; 
Heighten  every  joy  to-day, 

Never  mind  to-morrow. 

Bring  the  flafk,  the  mufic  bring, 

Joy  fhall  quickly  find  us  ; 
Prink,  and  dance,  and  laugh,  and  fing, 

And  call  dull  care  behind  us. 

SONG     XIV. 
CATOS     ADVICE. 

WHAT  Cato  advifes  moft  certainly  wife  is, 
Not  always  to  labour,  but  fometimes  to  play, 
To  mingle  fweet  pleafure  with  fearch  after  treafure, 

Indulging  at  night  for  the  toils  of  the  day  : 
And  while  the  dull  mifer  efteems  himfelf  wifer, 

His  bags  to  increafe,  while  his  health  does  decay, 
Our  fouls  we  enlighten,  our  fancies  we  brighten, 
And  pafs  the  long  evenings  in  pleafure  away. 

All 


DRINKING    SONGS.  13 

All  chearful  and  hearty,  we  fet  afide  party, 

With  fome  tender  fair  the  bright  bumper  is  crown'd  ; 
Thus  Bacchus  invites  us,  and  Venus  delights  us, 

While  care  in  an  ocean  of  claret  is  drown'd  : 
See,  here's  our  phyfician,  we  know  no  ambition, 

But  where  there's  good  wine  and  good  company  found  ; 
Thus  happy  together,  in  fpite  of  all  weather, 

JTis  funfhine  and  fummer  with  us  the  year  round. 

SONG     XV. 
FROM     ANACREON. 

IF  gold  could  lengthen  life,  I  fvvear, 
It  then  fhould  be  my  chiefeft  care, 
To  get  a  heap,  that  I  might  fay, 
When  death  came  to  demand  his  pay, 
Thou  flave,  take  this,  and  go  thy  way. 

But  fince  life  is  not  to  be  bought, 

Why  fhould  I  plague  myfelf  for  nought ; 

Or  foolifhly  difturb  the  ikies 

With  vain  complaints,  or  fruitlefs  cries  ? 

For  if  the  fatal  deftinies 

Have  all  decreed  it  fhall  be  fo, 

What  good  will  gold  or  crying  do  ? 

Give  me,  to  eafe  my  thirfly  foul, 
The  joys  and  comforts  of  the  bojwl ; 
Freedom  and  health,  and  whilft  I  live, 
Let  me  not  want  what  love  can  give  : 
Then  fhall  I  die  in  peace,  and  have 
This  confolation  in  the  grave, 
That  once  I  had  the  world  my  flave. 

SONG 


14  DRINKING    SONGS: 

SONG     XVI. 
AN   HUNDRED    YEARS    HENCE. 

LET  us  drink  and  be  merry, 
Dance,  joke,  and  rejoice, 
With  claret  and  merry, 

Theorboe  and  voice : 
The  changeable  world 

To  our  joy  is  unjuft, 
All  treafure's  uncertain, 

Then  down  with  your  duft. 
In  frolics  difpofe 

Your  pounds,  fhillings,  and  pence, 
For  we  (hall  be  nothing 

An  hundred  years  hence. 

We'll  kifs  and  be  free 

With  Moll,  Betty,  and  Nelly, 
Have  oyfters  and  lobflers, 

And  maids  by  the  belly. 
Fifh  dinners  will  make 

A  lafs  fpring  like  a  flea; 
Dame  Venus,  loves  goddefs, 

Was  born  of  the  fea : 
With  Bacchus  and  her 

We'll  tickle  the  fenfe, 
l?or  we  ftiall  be  paft  it 

An  hundred  years  hence. 


DRINKING    SONGS.  15 

Your  moft  beautiful  bit, 

That  hath  all  eyes  upon  her, 
That  her  honefty  fells 

For  a  hogoc  of  honour, 
Whofe  lightnefs  and  brightnefs 

Doth  ftiine  in  fuch  fplendour, 
That  none  bnt  the  ftars 

Are  thought  fit  to  attend  her 5 
Though  now  {he  be  pleafant, 

And  fweet  to  the  fenfe, 
Will  be  damnable  mouldy 

An  hundred  years  hence. 

The  ufurer,  that 

In  the  hundred  takes  twenty, 
Who  wants  in  his  wealth, 

And  pines  in  his  plenty  ; 
Lays  up  for  a  feafon 

Which  he  fhall  ne'er  fee, 
The  year  one  thoufand 

Eight  hundred  and  three : 
His  wit,  and  his  wealth, 

His  learning,   and  fenfe, 
Shall  be  turned  to  nothing 

An  hundred  years  hence. 

Your  Chancery-lawyers, 

Whofe  fubtilety  thrives, 
In  fpinning  out  fa-its 

To  the  length  of  three  lives  j 

Such 


4*  DRINKING    SONGS. 

Such  fuits  which  the  clients 

Do  wear  out  in  flavery, 
Whilft  pleader  makes  coifcience 

A  cloak  for  his  knavery, 
May  boaft  of  his  fubtilety 

In  the  prefent  tenfe, 
But  Nan  eft   inventus 

An  hundred  years  hence. 

Then  why  fhould  we  turmoil 

In  cares  and  in  fears, 
Turn  all  our  tranquility 

To  fighs  and  to  tears  ? 
Let's  eat,  drink,  and  play, 

Till  the  worms  do  corrupt  us, 
'Tis  certain,  poft  mortem 

Nulla  wluptas. 
Let's  deal  with  our  damfels, 
,That  we  may  from  thence, 
Have  broods  to  fucceed  us 

An  hundred  years  hence.  O. 

SONG     XVII. 

JOLLY  mortals,  fill  your  glafles, 
Noble  deeds  are  done  by  wine  ; 
Scorn  the  nymph  and  all  her  graces, 
Who'd  for  love  or  beauty  pine. 

Look  within  the  bowl  that's  flowing, 
And  a  thoufand  charms  you'll  find, 
More  than  in  Phillis,  though  juft  going, 

In  tliQ  moment  to  be  kind, 

Alexander 


BRINGING    SONGS.  j7 

Alexander  hated  thinking, 

Drank  about  at  council  board  ; 
He  fubdu'd  the  world  by  drinking, 

More  than  by  his  conquering  fword. 


SONG    XVIII. 

AS  fwift  as  time  put  round  the  glafs, 
And  hufband  well  lifts  little  fpace; 
Perhaps  your  fun,  which  Ihines  fo  bright, 
May  fet  in  everlafling  night. 

Or,  if  the  fun  again  mould  rife, 

Death,  ere  the  morn,  may  clofe  your  eyes; 

Then  drink,  before  it  be  too  late, 

And  fnatch  the  prefent  hour  from  fate. 

Come,  fill  a  bumper,  fill  it  round  ; 
Let  mirth,  and  wit,  and  wine  abound; 
In  thefe  alone  true  wifdom  lies, 
For,  to  be  merry's  to  be  wife. 

SONG    XIX.« 

BUSY,  curious,  thinly  Fly, 
Drink  with  me,  and  drink  as  I; 
Freely  welcome  to  my  cup, 
Could'ft  thou  fip  and  fip  it  up. 
Make  the  moft  of  life  you  may, 
Life  is  fhort,  and  wears  away. 

*  «  Made  extempore  by  a  Gentleman,  occalion'd  by  a  Fly  drinking 
out  of  his  Cup  of  Ale/* 

Vot.II.  C  Both 


,8  DRINKING    SONGS. 

Both  alike  are  mine  and  thine, 
Flattening  quick  to  their  decline  : 
Thine's  a  furamer,  mine  no  more, 
Though  repeated  to  threefcore  ; 
Threefcore  fummers,  when  they're  gone, 
Will  appear  as  fhort  as  one. 


SONG     XX. 
A  N"A  CREON     ON    HIMSELF, 

BY     THE     REV.     MR.     FAWK.ES. 

WHEN  I  drain  the  rofy  bowl, 
Joy  exhilarates  my  foul  j 
To  the  Nine  I  raife  my  fong, 
Ever  fair  and  ever  young. 
When  full  cups  my  cares  expell, 
Sober  counfels  then  farewell ; 
Let  the  winds,  that  murmur,  fvveep 
All  my  forrows  to  the  deep. 

When  I  drink  dull  time  away, 
Jolly  Bacchus,  ever  gay, 
Leads  me  to  delightful  bowers, 
Full  of  fragrance,  full  of  flower*. 
When  I  quaff  the  fparkling  wine, 
And  my  locks  with  rofes  twine, 
Then  I  praife  lifcs  rural  fcene, 
Sweet,  fequefler'd,  and  fcrene. 

When  I  fink  the  bowl  profound, 
Richeft  fragrance  flowing  round, 
And  fome  lovely  nymph  detain, 
Venus  then  infpires  the  flrain. 

i  When 


DRINKING    SONGS.  19 

When  from  goblets  deep  and  wide, 
I  exhauft  the  generous  tide, 
All  my  fool  unbends— I  play, 
Gameibme  with  the  young  and  gay. 


SONG     XXF. 

r 

MORTALS,  learn  your  lives  to  meafure, 
Not  by  length  of  time,  bat  pleafure  ; 
Now  the  hours  invite,  comply  $ 
Whilft  you  idly  paufe,  they  fly  : 
Bleft,  a  nimble  pace  they  keep  ; 
But  in  torment,  then  they  creep. 

Mortals  learn  your  lives  to  meafure, 
Not  by  length  of  time,  but  pleafure  ; 
Soon  your  fpring  muft  have  a  fall ; 
Loofing  youth,  is  lofing  all : 
Then  you'll  afk,  but  none  will  give  ; 
And  may  linger,  but  not  lire. 


o 


SONG     XXJL 

LD  Chiron  thus  preach'd  to  his  pupil  Achilles  : 
I'll  tell  you,  young  gentleman,  what  the  Pates  will  la: 
You,  my  boy, 
Muft  go 

(The  gods  will  have  it  fo) 
To  the  fiege  of  Troy  ; 
Thence  never  to  return  to  Greece  again, 
But  before  thofe  walls  to  be  flain. 

C  z  Ne'er 


20  DRINKING    SONGS. 

Ne'er  let  your  noble  courage  be  caft  down  ; 
But,  all  the  while  you  lie  before  the  town, 
Drink,  and  drive  care  away,  drink  and  be  merry ; 
You'll  ne'er  go  the  fooner  to  the  Stygian  ferry.  O. 


SONG    XXIII. 

LET's  be  jovial,  fill  our  glafles, 
Madnefs  'tis  for  us  to  think 
How  the  world  is  rul'd  by  afles, 
And  the  wife  are  fway'd  by  chink. 

Then  never  let  vain  cares  opprefs  us ; 

Riches  are  to  them  a  fnare  ; 
We're  ev'ry  one  as  rich  as  Crcefas, 

While  our  bottle  drowns  our  care. 

Wine  will  make  us  red  as  rofes, 

And  our  forrows  quite  forget ; 
Come  let's  fuddle  all  our  nofes, 

Drink  ourfelves  quite  out  of  debt. 

When  grim  Death  comes  looking  for  us, 

We  are  toping  off  our  bowls ; 
Bacchus  joining  in  the  chorus, 

Death,  begone,  here's  none  but  fouls. 

Godlike  Bacchus  thus  commanding, 

Trembling  Death  away  mall  fly  ; 
Ever  after  underftanding, 

Drinking  fouls  can  never  die. 

SONG 


E 


DRINKING    SONGS.  21 

SONG    XXIV. 
VERY  man  take  a  gla'fs  in  his  hand, 


.-/     And  drink  a  good  health  to  the  king; 
Many  years  may  he  rule  o'er  this  land; 

May  his  laurels  for  ever  frelh  fpring : 
Let  wrangling  and  jangling  ftraightway  ceafe, 
Let  ev'ry  man  ftrive  for  his  countrys  peace ; 

Neither  tory  nor  whig 

With  their  parties  look  big  : 
Here's  a  health  to  all  honeft  men. 

'Tis  not  owning  a  whimfical  name 

That  proves  a  man  loyal  and  juft  ; 
Let  him  fight  for  his  countrys  fame, 

Be  impartial  at  home  if  in  truft ; 
'Tis  this  that  proves  him  an  honeft  foul, 
His  health  we'll  drink  in  a  brimful  bowl ; 

Then  let's  leave  off  debate, 

No  confufion  create ; 
Here's  a  health  to  all  honeft  men. 

When  a  company's  honeftly  met, 
With  intent  to  be  merry  and  gay, 

Their  drooping  fpirits  to  whet, 

And  drown  the  fatigues  of  the  day ; 

What  madnefs  is  it  thus  to  difpute, 

When  neither  fide  can  his  man  confute? 
When  you've  faid  what  you  dare, 
You're  but  juft  where  you  were, 

Here's  a  health  to  all  honeft  men. 


Then 


DRINKING    SONGS. 

Then  agree,  ye  true  Britons,  agree, 

And  ne'er  quarrel  about  a  nick  name  ; 
Let  your  enemies  trembling  fee, 

That  an  Englifh  man's  always  the  fame  ; 
For  our  king,  our  church,  our  law,  and  right, 
Let's  lay  by  all  feuds,  and  ftraight  unite, 

Then  who  need  care  a  fig, 

Who's  a  tory  or  whig  : 
Here's  a  health  to  all  honeft  men. 

SONG    XXV. 
BY    TOM    BROWN. 

WINE,  wine  in  a  morning 
Makes  us  frolic  and  gay, 
That  like  eagles  we  foar, 

In  the  pride  of  the  day  ; 
Gouty  fots  of  the  night 
Only  find  a  decay. 

'Tis  the  fun  ripes  the  grape* 

And  to  drinking  gives  light; 
We  imitate  him, 

When  by  noon  we're  at  height; 
They  Real  win,:,  who  take  it 

When  he's  out  of  fight. 

Boy,  fill  all  the  glafles, 

Fill  them  up  now  he  fnines ; 
The  higher  he  rifes 

The  more  he  refines, 
For  wine  and  wit  fall 

As  their  maker  declines. 

SONG 


SONG    XXVI, 

HAD  Neptune,  when  firft  he  took  charge  of  the  fea, 
Been  as  wife,  or  at  leaft  been  as  merry  as  we, 
He'd  have  thought  better  on't,  and,  initeadofhis  briae, 
Would  have  fill'd  the  vaft  ocean  with  generous  wine. 

What  trafficking  then  would  have  been  on  the  main 
For  the  fake  of  good  liquor,  as  well  as  for  gain  ! 
No  fear  then  of  tempeft,  or  danger  of  finking  ; 
The  fifhes  ne'er  drown  that  are  always  a  drinking. 

The  hat  thirfty  fun  then  would  drive  with  more  hade, 
Secure  in  the  evening  of  fuch  a  repaft  ; 
And  when  he'd  got  tipfy  would  have  taken  his  nap 
With  double  the  pleafure  in  Thetises  lap. 

By  the  force  of  his  rays,  and  thus  heated  with  wine, 
Confider  how  glorioufly  Phoebus  would  mine ; 
What  vaft  exhalations  he'd  draw  up  on  high, 
To  relieve  the  poor  earth  as  it  wanted  fupply. 

How  happy  us  mortals  when  blefs'd  with  fuch  rain, 
To  fill  all  our  veflels,  and  fill  them  again ! 
Nay  even  the  beggar  that  has  ne'er  a  dim 
Might  jump  in  the  river,  and  drink  like  a  fifh. 

What  mirth  and  contentment  in  every  ones  brow, 
Hob  as  great  as  a  prince  dancing  after  the  plow  I 
The  birds  in  the  air,  as  they  play  on  the  wing, 
Although  they  but  fip,  would  eternally  fing. 

C4  The 


2|  DRINKING    SONGS. 

The  ftars,  who  I  think  don't  to  drinking  incline, 
Would  frifk  and  rejoice  at  the  fume  of  the  wine ; 
And,  merrily  twinkling,  would  foon  let  us  knowr 
That  they  were  as  happy  as  mortals  below. 

Had  this  been  the  cafe,  what  had  we  then  enjoy'd, 
Our  fpirits  ftill  rifing,  our  fancy  ne'er  cloy'd  ! 
A  pox  then  on  Neptune,  when  'twas  in  his  pow'r, 
To  flip,  like  a  fool,  fuch  a  fortunate  hour, 

SONG     XXVII. 
FROM     ANACREON. 
BY     ABRAHAM     COWLEY    ESQ. 

THE  thirfty  earth  drinks  up  the  rain, 
And  thirfts,  and  gapes  for  drink  again  ; 
The  plants  fet  in  the  earth,  they  are 
By  conftant  drinking  frefh  and  fair. 

The  fea  itfelf,  which,  one  would  think, 
Should  have  but  little  need  to  drink, 
Drinks  many  a  thoufand  rivers  up. 
Into  his  overflowing  cup. 

The  bufy  fun  (and  one  would  guefs 
By  his  drunken  fiery  face  no  lefs) 
Drinks  up  the  fea,  and  when  that's  done, 
The  moon  and  ftars  drink  up  the  fun. 

They  drink  and  dance  by  their  own  light, 
They  drink  and  revel  all  the  night ; 
Nothing  in  nature's  fober  found, 
But  an  eternal  health  goes  round. 


Fill 


DRINKING    SONGS.  2$ 

Fill  up  the  bowl,  boys,  fill  it  high  ; 
Fill  all  the  glafles  here ;  for  why 
Should  every  creature  drink  but  I  ? 
Why,  man  of  morals,  tell  me  why? 

SONG    XXVIII. 
BY     ARTHUR    DAWSON    ES  Q^» 

YE  good  fellows  all, 
Who  love  to  be  told  where  there's  claret  good  ftore, 
Attend  to  the  call 

Of  one  who's  ne'er  frighted, 
But  greatly  delighted, 
With  fix  bottles  more : 

Be  fure  you  don't  pafs 
The  good  houfe  Money  Glafs, 
Which  the  jolly  red  god  fo  peculiarly  owns  ; 
'Twill  well  fuit  your  humour, 
For  pray  what  would  you  more, 
Than  mirth,  with  good  claret,  and  bumpers,  'squire  Jones. 

Ye  lovers  who  pine 

For  lafles  that  oft  prove  as  cruel  as  fair, 
Who  whimper  and  whine 
For  lilies  and  rofes, 
With  eyes,  lips,  and  nofcs, 
Or  tip  of  an  ear : 

Come  hither,  I'll  mow  you 
How  Phillis  and  Chloe 

No  more  mall  occafion  fuch  fighs  and  fuch  groans ; 
For  what  mortal  fo  ftupid 
As  not  to  quit  Cupid, 

When  call'd  by  good  claret,  and  bumpers,  'squire  Jones. 
*  Third  baron   of  the  Exchequer  in  Ireland.    Who  i,  <* I  to  have 
trandated  it  from  one  of  the  compofitioni  of  Carolan,  ^celebrated  t 
Jrifh  bard.  ye 


*6  DRINKING    SONGS. 

Ye  poets  wko  write, 

And  brag  of  your  drinking  fam'd  Helicons  brook, 
Though  all  you  get  by't 
Is  a  dinner  oft-times, 
In  reward  of  your  rhimes, 
With  Humphrey  the  duke  : 
Learn  Bacchus  to  follow, 
And  quit  your  Apollo, 

£orfake  all  the  mufes,  thofe fenfelefs  old  crones; 
Our  jingling  of  glafles 
Your  rhiming  furpafles, 
When  crown'd  with  good  claret,  and  bumpers,  'squire  Jonee. 

Ye  foldiers  fo  ftout, 

With  plenty  of  oaths,  though  no  plenty  of  coin, 
Who  make  fuch  a  rout 

Of  all  your  cooimanders 
Who  ferv'd  us  in  Flanders, 
And  eke  at  the  Boyne  : 

Come  leave  off  your  rattling 
Of  iieging  and  battling, 

And  know  you'd  much  better  to  fleep  in  whole  bones ; 

Were  you  fent  to  Gibraltar, 

Your  note  you'd  foon  alter, 

And  wifli  for  good  claret,  and  bumpers^  'squire  Jones. 

Ye  clergy  fo  wife, 

Who  myft'ries  profound  can  demonftrate  moft  clear, 
How  worthy  to  rife  1 

You  preach  once  a  week, 
But  your  tithes  never  feck 
Above  once  in  a  year : 

Come 


DRINKING    SONGS.  ,7 

Come  here  without  failing, 

And  leave  off  your  railing 
'Gainft  bifhops  providing  for  dull  ftupid  drones; 

Says  the  text  fo  divine, 

What  is  life  without  wine  ? 
Then  away  with  the  claret,  a  bumper,  'squire  Jones. 

Ye  lawyers  fo  juft, 

Be  the  caufe  what  it  will,  who  fo  learnedly  plead, 
How  worthy  of  truft  ! 

You  know  black  from  white, 
Yet  prefer  wrong  to  tight, 
As  you  chance  to  be  fee'd : 

Leave  mufty  reports, 
And  forfake  the  kings  courts, 

Where  Dulnefs  and  Difcord  have  fetup  their  thrones; 
Burn  Saikeld  and  Ventris, 
With  all  your  damn'd  entries, 
And  away  with  the  claret,  a  bumper,  'squire  Jones. 

Ye  phyfical  tribe, 

Whofe  knowlege  confifts  in  bard  word*  and  grimace, 
Whene'er  you  prefcribe 
Have  at  your  devotion 
Pills,  bolus,  or  potion, 
Be  what  will  the  cafe : 

Pray  where  it  the  need 
To  purge,  blifler,  and  bleed  ? 
When  ailing  yourfelves  the  whole  faculty  owns, 
That  the  forms  of  old  Galen 
Are  not  fo  prevailing 
At  mirth  with  good  claret,  and  bumpers,  'squire  Jone«. 

5  Ye 


25  DRINKING    SONGS. 

Ye  foxhunters  eke, 

That  follow  the  call  of  the  horn  and  the  hound, 
Who  your  ladies  forfake, 
Before  they're  awake, 
To  beat  up  the  brake1 
Where  the  vermin  is  found  : 

Leave  Piper  and  Blueman, 
Shrill  Duchefs  and  Trueman ; 
No  mofic  is  found  in  fuch  diflbnant  tones : 
Would  you  ravilh  your  ears 
With  the  fongs  of  the  fpheres, 
Hark  away  to  the  claret,  a  bumper,  'squire  Jones. 

SONG     XXIX. 

IN    THE    PRAISE    OF    SACK. 
BY    FRANCIS    BEAUMONT. 

LISTEN  all,  I  pray, 
To  the  words  I've  to  fay, 
In  memory  fure  infert  'em ; 
Rich  wines  do  us  raife 
To  the  honour  of  bays ; 
Quern  non  fccere  defer  turn  ? 

Of  all  the  juice 
Which  the  gods  produce, 
Sack  (hall  be  preferr'd  before  'em  ; 

Tis  fack  that  mall 
'  Create  us  all 

Bacchus,  Apollo,  'virorunt. 

z  We' 


DRINCING    SONGS.  49 

We  abandon  all  ale, 

And  beer  that  is  ftale, 
Rofa  Soils  and  damnable  hum  ; 

But  we  will  crack 

In  the  praife  of  fack, 
'Gainft  omne  quod  exit  in  urn, 

This  is  the  wine 

Which  in  former  time 
Each  wife  one  of  the  Magi 

Was  wont  to  caroufe 

In  a  frolicfome  bloufe, 
Reculans  fub  tegmine 


Let  the  hop  be  their  bane 

And  a  rope  be  their  fhame, 
Let  the  gout  and  the  cholic  pine  'em 

That  offer  to  fhrink 

In  taking  their  drink, 
Seu  Gr<ecumt  jive  Latlnum. 

Let  the  glafs  go  round, 

Let  the  quart  pot  found  ; 
Let  each  one  do  as  he's  done  to  ; 

Avaunt  ye  that  hug 

The  abominable  jug. 
'Mongft  us  heterodita  funto, 


There's 


DRINKING    SONGS. 

There's  no  fuch  difeafe 

As  he  that  doth  pleafe 
His  palate  with  beer  for  to  fhame  us  ; 

'Tis  fack  makes  us  firg, 

Hey  down  a  down  ding, 
Mufa  paulo  major  a  canamus. 

He  is  either  mute 

Or  does  poorly  difpute, 
That  drinks  not  wine  as  we  men  do  ; 

The  more  a  man  drinks, 

Like  a  fubtile  fphinx, 
7 'ant 'urn  valet  ifte  loquendo. 

'Tis  true  our  fouls, 

By  the  loufy  bowls 
Of  beer  that  doth  naught  but  fwill  as, 

Do  go  into  fwine, 

(Pythagoras  'tis  thine) 
Nam  'vos  mutajlii  et  tlJas. 

When  I've  fack  In  my  brain 

I'm  in  a  merry  vein, 
And  this  to  jne  a  blifs  is  ; 

Him  that  is  wife 

I  can  juftly  defpife, 
Mecuvt  confertur  Wy(fei  ? 


How 


DRINKING    SOKGS.  31 

How  it  chears  the  brains ! 

How  it  warms  the  veins ! 
How  againft  all  crofles  it  arms  us ! 

How  it  makes  him  that's  poor 

Courageoufly  roar, 
Et  mutatas  dicere  f&rmas. 

Give  me  the  boy, 

My  delight  and  my  joy, 
To  my  fantttnt  that  drinks  his  tak : 

By  fack  he  that  waxes, 

In  our  fyntaxis, 
£/}  <verbum  perfonale* 

Art  thou  weak  or  lame, 

Or  thy  wits  to  blame  ? 
Call  for  fack  and  tfeoo  malt  have  it  ; 

'Twill  make  him  rife, 

And  be  very  wife, 
Cut  <vi'm  natura  nega<vit. 

We  have  frolic  rounds, 

We  have  merry  go -downs. 
Yet  nothing  is  done  at  random ; 

For  when  we're  to  pay, 

We  club  and  away, 
Id  eft  (Qtnmune  notandvm. 


The 


ja  DRINKING    SONGS. 

The  blades  that  want  cafh, 

Have  credit  for  crafh, 
They'll  have  fack  whatever  it  coft'em  ; 

They  do  not  pay 

Till  another  day, 
Manet  alta  mente  repojlum. 

Who  ne'er  fails  to  drink 

All  clear  from  the  brink, 
With  a  fmooth  and  even  fwallow, 

I'll  offer  at  his  ftirine, 

And  call  it  divine, 
Et  erit  mihi  tnagnus  Apollo* 

He  that  drinks  ftill, 

And  ne'er  has  his  fill, 
Hath  a  paflage  like  a  conduit : 

The  fack  doth  infpire 

In  rapture  and  fire, 
Sic  atber  atbera  fundit. 

When  you  merrily  quaff, 

If  any  go  off, 
And  flily  offer  to  pafs  ye, 

Give  their  nofe  a  twitch, 

And  kick  'em  in  the  breech 
Nam  componuntur  ab  ajft. 


1  have 


DRINKING    SONGS.  33 

I  have  told  you  plain, 

And  will  tell  you  again, 
Be  he  furious  as  Orlando, 

He  is  an  afs 

That  from  hence  doth  pafs, 
Nijt  blbit  ad  oftia  ftando. 

SONG     XXX. 

COME  fill  me  a  glafs,  fill  it  high, 
A  bumper,  a  bumper  I'll  have  ; 
He's  a  fool  that  will  flinch,  I'll  not  bate  him  an  inch, 
Though  I  drink  myfelf  into  the  grave. 

Here's  a  health  then  to  thofe  jolly  fouls, 

Who  like  me  will  ne'er  give  o'er  ; 
Who  no  danger  controuls,  but  will  takeoff  their  bowls, 

And  merry  ftickle  for  more. 

Drown  reafon,  and  all  fuch  weak  foes, 

I  fcorn  to  obey  her  command, 
Could  (he  ever  fuppofe  I'd  be  led  by  thenofe, 

And  let  my  glafs  idly  Hand  ? 

Reputation's  a  bugbear  to  fools, 

A  foe  to  the  joys  of  dear  drinking, 
Made  ufe  of  by  tools,  who'd  fet  us  new  rules, 

And  bring  us  to  pofitive  thinking. 

TeU'em  all,  I'll  have  fix  in  my  hand, 

For  I've  trifled  an  age  away  : 
'Tis  in  vain  to  command,  the  fleeting  fand 

Rolls  on,  and  cannot  flay. 
Come,  my  lads,  move  the  glafs,  drink  about, 

We'll  drink  the  univerfe  dry  ; 
We'll  fet  foot  to  foot,  and  drink  it  all  out, 

If  once  we  grow  fober  we  die.  *). 

VOL.  II.  D  SONG 


34  DRINKING     SONGS. 

SONG    XXXI. 

RAIL  no  more  ye  learned  afles,. 
'Gainft  the  joys  the  bowl  fupplies  ; 
Sound  its  depth,  and  fill  your  glafles, 

Wifdom  at  the  bottom  lies. 
Fill  them  higher  ftill,  and  higher, 

Shallow  draughts  perplex  the  brain  j 
Sipping  quenches  all  our  fire, 
Bumpers  light  it  up  again. 

Draw  the  fcene  for  Wit  and  Pleafure, 

Enter  Jollity  and  Joy  ; 
We  for  thinking  have  no  leifure, 

Manly  mirth  is  our  employ  : 
Since  in  life  there's  nothing  certain, 

We'll  the  prefent  hour  engage  ; 
And,  when  Death  (hall  drop  the  curtain, 

With  applaufe  we'll  quit  the  rtage. 

SONG      XXXII. 
THE    TIPLING    PHILOSOPHERS.* 

DIOGENES  furly  and  proud, 
Who  fnarl'd  at  the  Macedon  youth, 
Delighted  in  wine  that  was  good, 

Becaufe  in  good  wine  there  is  truth  : 
Till  growing  as  poor  as  a  Job, 

Unable  to  purchafe  a  flafk, 
He  chofe  for  his  rrianfion  a  tub, 
And  liv'd  by  the  fcent  of  the  cafk. 

*  Confided  originally  of  but  fix  verfe?.  The  author  afterwards  in- 
feited  a  number  of  additional  ftanzas,  of  which,  thofe  included  within 
crotchets  have  been  fometimes  printed  as  part  of  the  fong.  The  whole 
is  contained  in  a  little  pamphlet,  intitled  Wine  and  Wifdom,  or  the 
Tipling  Philofophcis,  a  lytick  poeim  Loud.  iyic. 

Heraclilus 


DRINKING    SONGS.  3J 

Heraclitus  would  never  deny 

A  bumper  to  comfort  his  heart, 
But  when  he  was  maudlin  would  cry, 

Becaufe  he  had  emptied  his  quart  : 
Though  fome  are  fo  foolifh  to  think 

He  wept  at  mans  folly  and  vice, 
'Twas  only  his  cuftom  to  drink 

Till  the  liquor  flow'd  out  of  his  eyes. 

Democritus  always  was  glad 

To  tipple  and  cherifii  his  foul ; 
And  would  laugh  like  a  man  that  was  mad. 

When  over  a  full  flowing  bowl  : 
As  long  as  his  cellar  was  ftor'd, 

The  liquor  he'd  merrily  quaff, 
And  when  he  was  drunk  as  a  lord, 

At  thofe  that  were  fober  he'd  laugh. 

[  Wife  Solon,  who  carefully  gave 

Good  laws  unto  Athens  of  old, 
And  thought  the  rich  Croefus  a  Have, 

Though  a  king,  to  his  coffers  of  gold  ; 
He  delighted  in  plentiful  bowls ; 

But,  drinking,  much  talk  would  decline, 
Becaufe  'twas  the  cuftom  of  fools, 

To  prattle  much  over  their  wine. 

Old  Socrates  ne'er  was  content, 

Till  a  bottle  had  heightened  hisjoyj, 
Who  in's  cups  to  the  oracle  went, 

Or  he  ne'er  had  been  counted  fo  wife  : 
Late  hours  he  certainly  lov'd, 

Made  wine  the  delight  of  his  life, 
Or  Xantippe  would  never  have  prov'd 

Such  a  damnable  fcold  of  a  wife.  ] 

D  *  [  Old 


36  DRINKING    SONGS, 

[  Old  Seneca,  fam'd  for  his  parts, 

Who  tutor'd  the  bully  of  Rome, 
Grew  wife  o'er  his  cups  and  his  quarts 

Which  he  drank  like  a  mifer  at  home  : 
And  to  mow  he  lov'd  wine  that  was  good 

To  the  laft,  we  may  truly  aver  it, 
That  he  tinftur'd  the  bath  with  his  blood, 

So  fancied  he  died  in  his  claret.  ] 

Pythag'ras  did  filence  enjoin 

On  his  pupils,  who  wifdom  would  feek, 
Becaufe  that  he  tippled  good  wine, 

Till  himfelf  was  unable  to  fpeak : 
And  when  he  was  whimfical  grown, 

With  fipping  his  plentiful  bowls, 
By  the  ftrength  of  the  juice  in  his  crown, 

He  conceiv'd  tranfmigration  of  fouls,] 

Copernicus,    like  to  the  reft, 

Believ'd  there  was  wifdom  in  wine, 
And  fancied  a  cup  of  the  beft 

Made  reafon  the  brighter  to  mine  ; 
With  wine  he  replenilh'd  his  vein,s, 

And  made  his  philofophy  reel  j 
Then  fancied  the  world  like  his  brains, 

Run  round  like  a  chariot  wheel. 

[  Theophraftus,  that  eloquent  fage, 

By  Athens  fo  greatly  ador'd, 
With  a  bottle  would  boldly  engage, 

When  mellow,  was  brifk  as  a  bird ; 
Would  chat,  tell  a  ftory,  and  jeft, 

Moft  pleafantly  over  a  glafs, 
And  thought  a  dumb  gueft  at  a  feaft, 

But  a  dull  philofophical  afs.  ] 

[  Anaxarchus, 


DRINKING    SONGS.  37 

[  Anaxarchus,  more  patient  than  Job, 

By  peftles  was  pounded  to  death, 
Yet  fcorn'd  that  a  groan  or  a  fob 

Should  wafte  the  remains  of  his  breath: 
But  Cure  he  was  free  with  the  glafs, 

And  drank  to  a  pitch  of  difdain, 
Or  the  ftrength  of  his  wifdom,  alas ! 

I  fear  would  have  flinch'd  at  the  pain.  ] 

Ariftotle,  that  matter  of  arts, 

Had  been  but  a  dunce  without  wine, 
And  what  we  afcribe  to  his  parts, 

Is  due  to  the  juice  of  the  vine: 
His  belly,  moft  writers  agree, 

Was  as  large  as  a  watering  trough  j 
He  therefore  jump'd  into  the  fea, 

Becaufe  he'd  have  liquor  enough. 

[  When  Pyrrho  had  taken  a  glafs, 

He  faw  that  no  objeft  appear'd, 
Exaftly  the  fame  as  it  was 

Before  he  had  liquor'd  his  beard  : 
For  things  running  round  in  his  drink. 

Which  fober  he  motionlefs  found, 
Occafion'd  the  fkeptic  to  think 

There  was  nothing  of  truth  to  be  found.  ] 

Old  Plato  was  reckon'd  divine, 

He  wifely  to  virtue  was  prone ; 
But  had  it  not  been  for  good  wine, 

His  merits  we  never  had  known. 
By  wine  we  are  generous  made, 

It  furnifhes  fancy  with  wings, 
Without  it  we  ne'er  mould  have  had 

Philofophers,  poets,  or  kings. 

D3  SONG 


.»  ,>  'j 
JUG 


DRINKING    SONGS. 
SONG     XXXIII. 

BY   MR.    HENRY    CAREY.* 

ZENO,  Plato,  Ariftotle, 
All  were  lovers  of  the  bottle ; 
Poets,  painters,  and  muficians, 
Churchmen,  lawyers,  and  phyficians, 
All  admire  a  pretty  lafs, 
All  require  a  chearful  glafs  : 
Ev'ry  pleafure  has  its  feafon, 
Love  and  drinking  are  no  treafon. 

SONG     XXXIV. 
FROM     MILTON,  f 

NOW  Phoebus  finketh  in  the  weft, 
Welcome  fong,  and  welcome  jeft, 
Midnight  Jhout  and  revelry, 
Tipfy  dance  and  jollity  ; 
Braid  your  locks  with  rofy  twine, 
Dropping  odours  dropping  wine. 

Rigour  now  is  gone  to  bed, 
And  advice  with  fcrup'lous  head, 
Strift  age,  and  four  feverity, 
With  their  grave  faws  in  flurnberlie. 

*  In  the  burlefque  opera  of  the  Dragon  of  Wantley. 
•    In  the  Mafque  of  Comus. 


SONG 


DRINKING    SONGS.  39 

SONG     XXXV. 

BY     DR.     DALTON.  * 

BY  the  gayly  circling  glafs 
We  can  fee  how  the  minutes  pafs ; 
By  the  hollow  calk  are  told, 
How  the  waning  night  grows  old. 

Soon,  too  foon,   the  bufy  day 
Drives  us  from  our  fport  and  play. 
What  have  we  with  day  to  do  ? 
Sons  of  care  !    'twas  made  for  you. 

SONG    XXVI. 

BY    RICHARD   BRINSLEY    SHERIDAN 

THIS  bottle's  the  fun  of  our  table, 
His  beams  are  rofy  wine  ; 
We  -  -  planets  that  are  not  able 
Without  his  help  to  mine. 

Let  mirth  and  glee  abound  ! 

You'll  foon  grow  bright 

With  borrow'd  light, 
And  fhine  as  he  goes  round. 

SONG     XXXVII. 

BY    THE    EARL    OF    ROCHESTER. 

VULCAN,  contrive  me  fuch  a  cup, 
As  Neftor  us'd  of  old  ; 
Show  a  1  thy  {kill  to  trim  it  up, 
Damafk  it  round  with  gold. 

*  Jn  the  Mafque  of  Conus. 
f  In  the  Duenna. 

D  4 


40  DRINKING    SONGS, 

Make  it  fo  large,  that,  fill'd  with  fack 

Up  to  the  (welling  brim, 
Vaft  toafts  in  the  delicious  lake, 

Like  fliips  at  fea,  may  fwim. 

Engrave  not  battle  on  his  cheek, 

With  war  I've  nought  to  do  ; 
I'm  none  of  thofe  that  took  Maeftrick, 

Nor  Yarmouth  leaguer  knew. 

Let  it  no  name  of  planets  tell, 

Fix'd  ftars  or  conftellations; 
For  I  am  no  fir  Sydrophel, 

Nor  none  of  his  relations. 

But  carve  thereon  a  fpreading  vine, 

Then  add  two  lovely  boys  ; 
Their  limbs  in  am'rous  folds  entwine, 

The  type  of  future  joys, 

Cupid  and  Bacchus  my  faints  are, 

May  drink  and  love  ftill  reign  ; 
With  wine  I  warn  away  my  care, 

And  then  to  love  again. 

SONG     XXXVIIf. 
FROM     ANACREON. 

FILL  me  a  bowl,  a  mighty  bowl, 
Large  as  my  capacious  foul ; 
Vaft  as  my  thirft  is,  let  it  have 
Depth  enough  to  be  my  grave  ; 
I  mean  the  grave  of  all  my  care, 
For  I  defign  to  bury't  there. 

fat 


DRINKING    SONGS. 

Let  it  of  filver  faftnon'd  be, 
Worthy  of  wine,  worthy  of  me, 
Worthy   to  adorn  the  fpheres, 
As  that  bright  cup  amongft  the  ftars. 
Fill  me  a  bowl,  a  mighty  bowl, 
Large  as  my  capacious  foul. 


SONG    XXXIX. 

YOU  know  that  our  ancient  philofophers  hold, 
There  is  nothing  in  beauty,  or  honour,  or  gold; 
That  blifs  in  externals  no  mortal  can  find, 
And  in  truth,  my  good  friends,  I  am  quite  of  their  mind. 

What  makes  a  man  happy,   I  never  can  doubt, 
*Tis  fomething  within  him,  and  nothing  without; 
This  fomething,  they  faid,  was  the  fource  of  content, 
And,  whatever  they  call'd  it,  'twas  wine  that  they  meant. 

Without  us,  indeed,  it  is  not  worth  a  pin  ; 
But,  ye  gods  !  how  divine  if  we  get  it  within ; 
'Tis  then  of  all  bleffings  the  flourifhing  root, 
And,  in  fpite  of  the  world,  we  can  gather  the  fruit. 

When  the  bottle  is  wanting  the  foul  is  depreft, 
And  beauty  can  kindle  no  flame  in  the  breaft ; 
Jut  with  wine  in  our  hearts  we  are  always  in  love, 
We  can  fing  like  the  linnet,  and  bill  like  the  dove. 

The 


41  DRINKING    SONGS. 

The  richeft  and  greateft  are  poor  and  repine, 

If  with  gold  and  with  grandeur  you  give  them  no  wine; 

But  wine  to  th^  peafant  or  flave  if  you  bring, 

He's  as  rich  as  a  Jew,  and  as  great  as  a  king. 

With  wine  at  my  heart,  I  am  happy  and  free, 
Externals  without  it  are  nothing  to  me; 
Come  fill,  and  this  truth  from  a  bumper  you'll  know, 
That  wine  is,  of  bleffings,  the  bleffing  below. 

SONG    XL. 
IN    PRAISE     OF    WINE. 

BY     BEN     JONSON? 

LET  fcldiers  fight  for  pay  and  praife, 
And  money  be  the  mifers  wifh  ; 
Poor  fcholars  lludy  all  their  days, 

And  gluttons  g!ory  in  their  dim  : 
*Tis  wine,  pure  wine  revives  fad  fouls, 
Thertfor  £ure  me  the  chearing  bowls. 

Let  minions  marfhal  in  their  hair, 

And  in  a  lovers  lock  delight, 
And  artificial  colours  wear; 

We  have  the  native  red  and  white. 
'Tis  wine,  &c. 

Your  pheafant  pout,  and  culver  falmon, 
And  how  to  pleafe  your  palates  think ; 

Give  us  a  fait  Weftphalia  gammon, 
Not  meat  to  eat,  but  meat  to  drink. 

*Tis  wine,  &c. 

5  Some 


43 

It  makes  the  backward  fpirits  brave, 

That  lively  that  before  was  dull ; 
Thofe  grow  good  fellows  that  are  grave, 

And  kindnefs  flows  from  cups  brim. full. 
'Tis  wine,  £ffr. 

Some  have  the  tific,  fome  the  rheum, 

Some  have  the  palfy,  fome  the  gout ; 
Some  fwell  with  fat,  and  fome  confume,  ' 

But  they  are  found  that  drink  all  out. 
'Tis  wine,  £5V. 

Some  men  want  youth,  and  fome  want  health, 

Some  want  a  wife,  and  fome  a  punk, 
Some  men  want  wit,  and  fome  want  wealth; 

But  he  wants  nothing  that  is  drunk. 
'Tis  wine,  pure  wine  revives  fad  fouls, 
Therefore  give  me  the  chearing  bowls. 

SONG    XLI. 
A    BACCHANALIAN    RANT. 

BY    MR.    HENRY    CAREY. 

BACCHUS  muft  now  his  power  refign, 
I  am  the  only  god  of  wine ; 
It  is  not  fit  the  wretch  mould  be 
In  competition  fet  with  me, 
Who  can  drink  ten  times  more  than  he. 

Make  a  new  world,  ye  powers  divine! 
Stock'd  with  nothing  elfe  but  wine; 
Let  wine  its  only  product  be, 
Let  wine  be  earth,  and  air,  and  fea, 
And  let  that  wine  be  all  for  me. 


44.  DRINKING    SONGS. 

Let  other  mortals  vainly  wear 
A  tedious  life  in  anxious  care  ; 
Let  the  ambitious  toil  and  think, 
Let  ftates  and  empires  fwim  or  fink, 
My  fole  ambition  is  to  drink. 

SONG     XLII. 

FT  Am  the  king  and  prince  of  «  drinkers/ 
L  JL     Ranting,  rattling,  jovial  boys : 
We  defpife  your  fullen  thinkers, 
And  fill  the  tavern  with  «  our*  noife. 

We  fing  and  we  roar, 

And  we  drink  and  call  for  more, 
And  make  more  noife  than  twenty  can  ; 

'Tis  therefore  all  we  fwear, 

That  the  man  who  knows  no  caret 
He  only  deferves  the  name  of  a  man.] 

My  friend  and  I  we  drank  whole  pifspots 

Full  of  fack  up  to  the  brim  : 
I  drank  to  my  friend,  and  he  drank  his  pot, 
So  we  put  about  the  whim : 

Three  bottles  and  a  quart, 

We  fwallow'd  down  our  throat, 
But  hang  fuch  puny  fips  as  thefe; 

We  laid  us  all  along, 

With  our  mouths  unto  the  bung, 
And  tipp'd  whole  hogmeads  off  with  safe. 

I  heard  of  a  fop  that  drank  whole  tankards, 

Stil'd  himfelf  the  prince  of  fots  : 
But  I  fay  now  hang  fuch  filly  drunkards, 

Melt  their  flaggons,  break  their  pots. 

My 


DRINKING    SONGS.  4$ 

My  friend  and  I  did  join 

For  a  cellar  full  of  wine, 
And  we  drank  the  vintner  out  of  door  ; 

We  drank  it  all  up, 

In  the  morning,  at  a  fup, 
And  greedily  rov'd  about  for  more. 

My  friend  to  me  did  make  this  motion, 

Let  us  to  the  vintage  fkip  : 
Then  we  embark'd  upon  the  ocean, 
Where  we  found  a  Spanifh  {hip, 

Deep  laden  with  wine, 

Whi«h  was  fuperfine, 
The  failors  fwore  five  hundred  tun  ; 

We  drank  it  all  at  fea, 

Ere  we  came  unto  the  key, 
And  the  merchant  fwore  he  was  quite  undooe. 

My  friend,  not  having  quench'd  his  thir.fr, 

Said,  let  us  to  the  vineyards  hafte : 
Straight  then  we  fail'd  to  the  Canaries, 
Which  afforded  juft  a  tafte  ; 

From  thence  unto  the  Rhine, 

Where  we  drank  up  all  the  wine, 
'Till  Bacchus  cried,  Hold,  ye  fots,  or  ye  die  ; 

And  fwore  he  never  found, 

In  his  univerfal  round, 
Such  thirfty  fouls  as  my  friend  and  I. 

Out,  fie !  cries  one,  what  a  beaft  he  makes  him  ! 

He  can  neither  (land  nor  go. 
Out,  you  bead  you,  you're  much  miftaken, 

Whene'er  knew  you  a  beaft  drink  fo  ? 

'Tis 


46  DRINKING    SONGS. 

'Tis  when  we  drink  the  leaft, 
That  we  drink  moft  like  a  beaft  ; 

But  when  we  caroufe  it  fix  in  hand, 
'Tis  then,  and  only  then, 
That  we  drink  the  moft  like  men, 

When  we  drink  till  we  can  neither  go  nor  ftand. 


SONG    XLII. 

E  man  that  is  drunk  is  void  of  all  care, 
A      He  needs  neither  Parthian  quiver  nor  fpear : 
The  Moors  poifon'd  dart  he  fcorns  for  to  wield  ; 
His  bottle  alone  is  his  weapon  and  fhield. 

Undaunted  he  goes  among  bullies  and  whores, 
Demolifhes  windows,  and  breaks  open  doors  ; 
He  revels  all  night,  is  afraid  of  no  evil, 
And  boldly  defies  both  pro&or  and  devil. 

As  late  I  rode  out,  with  my  fkin  full  of  wine, 
Incumbered  neither  with  care  nor  with  coin, 
I  boldly  confronted  a  horrible  dun, 
Affrighted,  as  foon  as  he  faw  me,  he  run. 

No  monfter  could  put  you  in  half  fo  much  fear, 
Should  he  in  Apulias  foreft  appear; 
In  Africas  defart  there  never  was  feen 
A  monfter  fo  hated  by  gods  and  by  men. 

Come  place  me,  ye  deities,  under  the  line, 
Where  grows  not  a  tree,  nor  a  plant,  but  the  vine  ; 
O'er  hot  burning  fands  I'll  fwelter  and  fweat, 
Barefooted,  with  nothing  to  keep  off  the  heat. 

Or 


DRINKING     SO  GS.  47 

Or  place  me  where  funmine  is  ne'er  to  be  found, 
Where  the  earth  is  with  winter  eternally  bound  ; 
Even  there  I  would  nought  but  my  bottle  require, 
My  bottle  mould  warm  me,  and  fill  me  with  fire. 

My  tutor  may  Job  me,  and  lay  me  down  rules  j 
Who  minds  them  but  dull  philofophical  fools  ? 
For  when  I  am  old,  and  can  no  more  drink, 
'Tis  time  enough  then  for  to  fit  down  and  think. 

'Twas  thus  Alexander  was  tutor'd  in  vain, 

For  he  thought  Ariftotle  an  afs  for  his  pain  ; 

His  forrows  he  us'd  in  full  bumpers  to  drown, 

And  when  he  was  drunk,  then  the  world  was  his  own. 

This  world  is  a  tavern,  with  liquor  well  ftor'd, 
And  into't  I  came  to  be  drunk  as  a  lord : 
My  life  is  the  reck'ning,  which  freely  I'll  pay  ; 
And  when  I'm  dead  drunk,  then  I'll  ftagger  away. 


SONG    XLIV. 
[FROM     AURELIUS     AUGURELLUS.J 


BY     DR.    PARNELL. 


(AY  Bacchus,  liking  Eikourts  wine 
T     A  noble  meal  befpoke  us ; 
And  for  the  guefts  that  were  to  dine, 
Brought  Cotnus,  Love,  and  Jocus. 


G 


The 


DRINKING    SONGS. 

The  god  neat  Cupid  drew  his  chair, 

Near  Comus  Jocus  plac'd ; 
Thus  wine  makes  love  forget  its  care, 

And  mirth  exalts  a  feaft. 

The  more  to  pleafe  the  fpritely  god, 

Each  fweet  engaging  grace 
Put  on  lome  clothes  to  come  abroad. 

And  took  a  waiters  place. 

Then  Cupid  nam'd  at  every  glafs 

A  lady  of  the  fky, 
While  Bacchus  fwore  he'd  drink  the  lafs, 

And  had  it  bumper  high. 

Fat  Comus  tofs'd  his  brimmer  o'er, 

And  always  got  the  mod ; 
Jocus  took  care  to  fill  him  more, 

Whene'er  he  mifs'd  the  toaft. 

They  call'd,  and  drank  at  every  touch, 

Then  fill'd  and  drank  again  ; 
And  if  the  gods  can  take  too  much 

*Tis  faid,  they  did  fo  th&n. 

Free  jefts  run  all  the  table  round, 

And  with  the  wine  confpire 
(While  they  by  fly  reflection  wound) 

To  fet  their  heads  on  fire. 

i 
Gay  Bacchus  little  Cupid  ftung, 

By  reck'ning  his  deceits  ; 
And  Cupid  mock'd  his  ftamm'ring  tongue, 

With  all  his  Haggling  gaits. 


DRINKING    SONGS. 

And  Jocus  droll'd  on  Comus'  ways, 

And  tales  without  a  jeft ; 
While  Comus  call'd  his  witty  plays 

But  waggeries  at  bed. 

Such  talk  foon  fet  them  all  at  odds, 

And  had  I  Homers  pen ; 
I'd  fing  ye,  how  they  drank  like  gods, 

And  how  they  fought  like  men. 

To  part  the  fray,  the  Graces  fly, 

Who  made  them  foon  agree; 
And  had  the  Furies  felves  been  nigh, 

They  ftill  were  three  to  three. 

Bacchus  appeas'd,  rais'd  Cupid  up, 
And  gave  him  back  his  bow ; 

But  kept  fome  dart  to  ftir  the  cup, 
Where  fack  and  fugar  flow. 

Jocus  took  Comus'  rofy  crown, 

And  gayly  wore  the  prize, 
And  thrice,  in  mirth,  he  pulh'd  him  down, 

As  thrice  he  ftrove  to  rife. 

Then  Cupid  fought  the  myrtle  grove, 

Where  Venus  did  recline, 
And  beauty  clofe  embracing  love, 

They  joined  to  rail  at  wine. 

And  Comus,  loudly  curfing  wit, 

Roll'd  off  to  fome  retreat, 
Where  boon  companions  gravely  fit 

In  fat  unwieldy  date. 
£ 


5o  -DRINKING    SONGS, 

Bacchus  and  Jocus  ftill  behind, 

For  one  frefh  glafs  prepare  j 
'They  kifs,  and  are  exceeding  kind, 

And  vow  to  be  fincere. 

But  part  in  time,  whoever  hear 

This  our  inftruftive  fong ; 
For  though  fuch  friendfhips  may  be  dear, 

They  can't  continue  long. 


SONG     XLV. 
A   TRUE   AND    LAMENTABLE   BALLAD; 

CALLED 

THE     EARLS    DEFEAT. 

To  the  Tune  of  Chevy-Chafe. 
BY     THE     DUKE     OF     WHARTON. 

On  both  fides  jlaugbier  and  gigantick  deeds.  Mi  L  T  0  N . 

GOD  profper  long  from  being  broke 
The -Luck*  of  Eden-Hall, 
A  doleful  drinking-bout  I  fing, 
There  lately  did  befal. 

To  chafe  the  fpleen  with  cup  and  can 

Duke  Philip  took  his  way, 
Babes  yet  unborn  fhall  never  fee 

The  like  of  fuch  a  day. 

*  A  pint  bumper  at  fir  Chriftopher  Mufgraves. 

The 


DRINKING    SONGS.  51 

The  flout  and  ever-thirfty  duke 

A  vow  to  God  did  make, 
His  pleafure  within  Cumberland 

Three  live-long  night?  to  take. 

Sir  Mufgrave  too  of  Martindale, 

A  true  and  worthy  knight, 
Eftfoon  with  him  a  bargain  made, 

In  drinking  to  delight. 

The  bumpers  fwiftly,  pafs  about, 

Six  in  a  hand  went  round; 
And  with  their  calling  for  more  winc> 

They  made  the  hall  refound. 

Now  when  thefe  merry  tidings  reach'd 

The  earl  of  Harolds  ears, 
And  am  I  (quoth  he,  with  an  oath) 

Thus  flighted  by  my  peers  ? 

Saddle  my  Jleed,  bring  Forth  my  boots, 

I'll  be  with  them  right  quick  ; 
And,  matter  (herifF,  come  you  too; 

We'll  know  this  fcurvy  trick. 

Lo!  yonder  doth  earl  Harold  come; 

(Did  one  at  table  fay  ;) 
*Tis  well,  replied  the  mettled  duke, 

How  will  he  get  away  ? 

When  thus  the  earl  began,  great  duke, 

I'll  know  how  this  did  chance, 
Without  inviting  me,  fuu  this 

You  did  not  learn  in  France.  On 


52  DRINKING    SONGS. 

One  of  us  two,  for  this  offence, 

Under  the  board  fliall  lie; 
I  know  thee  well,  a  duke  thou  art, 

So  fome  years  hence  fliall  I. 

But,  truft  me,  Wharton,  pity  it  were, 

So  much  good  wine  to  fpill, 
As  thefe  companions  here  may  drink, 

Ere  they  have  had  their  fill. 

Let  thou  and  I,  ia  bumpers  full, 

This  grand  affair  decide ; 
Accurs'd  be  he,  duke  Wharton  faid, 

By  whom  it  is  denied. 

To  Andrews,  and  to  Hotham  fair, 

Many  a  pint  went  round, 
And  many  a  gallant  gentleman 

Lay  fick  upon  the  ground. 

When,  at  the  laft,  the  duke  efpied 

He  had  the  earl  fecure ; 
He  plied  him  with  a  full  pint  glafs, 

Which  laid  him  on  the  floor. 

Who  never  fpoke  more  words  than  thefe, 

After  he  downward  funk, 
My  worthy  friends,  revenge  my  fall, 

Duke  Wharton  fees  me  drunk. 

Then,  with  a  groan,  duke  Philip  took 

The  fick  man  by  the  joint, 
And  faid,  earl  Harold,  'ftead  of  thee, 

Would  I  had  drunk  the  pint. 


Alack! 


DRINKING    SONGS.  53 

Alack  !  my  very  heart  doth  bleed/ 

And  doth  within  me  fink, 
For  furely  a  more  fober  earl 

Did  never  fwallow  drink. 

With  that  the  fheriff,  in  a  rage, 

To  fee  the  earl  fo  fmit, 
Vow'd  to  revenge  the  dead- drunk  peer 

Upon  renown'd  fir  Kit. 

Then  flepp'd  a  gallant  'fquire  forth, 

Of  vifage  thin  and  pale, 
Lloyd  was  his  name,  and  of  Gang-Hall, 

Faft  by  the  river  Swale. 

Who  faid  he  would  not  have  it  told, 

Where  Eden  river  ran, 
That  unconcern'd  he  fhould  fit  byj 

So,  fherifF,  I'm  your  man. 

i 
Now  when  thefe  tidings  reach'd  the  room, 

Where  the  duke  lay  in  bed, 
HOW  that  the  'fquire  fuddenly 

Upon  the  floor  was  laid. 

0  heavy  tidings !  (quoth  the  duke) 
Cumberland  witnefs  be, 

1  have  not  any  toper  more, 

Of  fuch  account  as  he. 

Like  tidings  to  earl  Thanet  came, 

Within  as  Ihort  a  fpace, 
How  that  the  under-fherifF  too 

Was  fallen  from  his  place. 


$4  DRINKING    SONGS. 

Now  God  be  with  him  (faid  the  earl) 

Sith  'twill  no  better  be, 
I  truft  I  have  within  my  town,      ' 

As  drunken  knights  as  he. 

Of  all  the  number  that  were  there, 

Sir  Bains  he  fcorn'd  to  yield  ; 
But  with  a  bumper  in  -his  hand, 
,     He  ftagger'd  o'er  the  field. 

Thus  did  this  dire  contention  end; 

And  each  man  of  the  flain 
Were  quickjy  carried  off  to  bed, 

Their  fenfes  to  regain. 

God  blefs  the  king,  the  duchefs  fat, 
And  keep  the  land  in  peace, 

And  grant  that  druntcennefs  henceforth 
'Mong  noblemen  may  ceafe. 

And  likewife  blefs  our  royal  prince, 

The  nations  other  hope, 

„  And  give  us  grace  for  to  defy 

.  The  Devil  and  the  Pope. 


SONG     XLVf. 

COME,  come,  my  hearts  of  gold, 
Let  us  be  merry  and  wife, 
It  is  a  proverb  of  old, 

Sufpicion  has  double  eyes ; 


DRINKING    SONGS.  55 

Whatever  we  fay  or  do, 

Let's  not  drink  to  difturb  the  brain, 
Let's  laugh  for  an  hour  or  two, 

And  ne'er  be  drunk  again. 

A  cup  of  old  fack  is  good, 

To  drive  the  cold  winter  away ; 
'Twill  cherifh  and  comfort  the  blood 

Moft  when  a  mans  fpirits  decay  : 
But  he  that  drinks  too  much, 

Of  his  head-he  will  complain 
Then  let's  have  a  gentle  touch, 

And  ne'er  be  drunk  again. 

Good  claret  was  made  for  man, 

But  man  was  not  made  for  it  j 
Let's  be  merry  as  we  can, 

So  we  drink  not  away  our  wit  j 
Good  fellovvlhip  is  abus'd, 

And  wine  will  infedt  the  brain  j 
But  we'll  have  it  better  us'd, 

And  ne'er  be  drunk  again. 

When  with  good  fellows  we  meet, 

A  quart  among  three  or  four, 
'Twill  make  us  {land  on  our  feet, 

While  others  lie  drunk  on  the  floor. 
Then,  drawer,  go  fill  us  a  quart, 

And  let  it  be  claret  in  grain  ; 
'Twill  cherim  and  comfort  the  heart, 

But  we'll  ne'er  be  drunk  again. 

E  4  Here's 


56  DRINKING    SONGS, 

Here's  a  health  to  our  noble  king, 

And  to  the  queen  of  his  heart ; 
Let's  laugh,  and  merrily  fing, 

And  he's  a  coward  that  will  flart : 
•   Here's  a  health  to  our  general, 

And  to  thofe  that  were  in  Spain, 
And  to  our  colonel, 

And  we'll  ne'er  be  drunk  again. 

Enough's  as  good  as  a  feaft, 

If  a  man.  did  but  meafure  know; 
A  drunkard's  worfe  than  a  beaft, 

For  he'll  drink  till  he  cannot  go. 
If  a  man  -could  time  recall, 

In  a  tavern  that's  fpent  in  vain, 
We'd  learn  to  be  fober  all, 

And  we'd  ne'er  be  drunk  again^ 


SONG     XL  VII. 

BY     MR.     GARRICK. 

YE  true  honeft  Britons  who  love  your  own  land, 
Whofe  fires  were  fo  brave,  fo  victorious  and  free, 
Who  always  beat  France  when  they  took  her  in  hand, 

Come  join,  honeft  Britons,  in  chorus  with  me. 
Let  us  fing  our  own  treafures,  old  Englands  good  cheer, 
The  profits  and  pleafures  of  ftout  Britifti  beer 
Your  wine-tipling,  dram-fipping  fellows  retreat, 
But  your  beer-drinking  Britons  can  never  be  beat. 


The 


DRINKING    SONGS.  57 

The  French  with  their  vineyards  are  meagre  and  pale, 
They  drink  of  the  fqueezings  of  half-ripen'd  fruit, 

But  we  who  have  hop-grounds  to  mellow  our  ale, 
Are  rofy  and  plump,  and  have  freedom  to  boot. 

Let  us  fing,  C5V. 

Should  the  French  dare  invade  us  thus  arm'd  with  our 
poles, 

We'll  bang  their  bare  ribs,  make  their  lantern-jaws  ring, 
For  your  beef-eating,  beer-drinking  britons  are  fouls, 

Who  will  fpend  their  laft  drop  for  their  country  and 

king. 

Let  us  fing  our  own  treafures,  old  Englands  good  cheer, 
The  profits  and  pleafures  of  ftout  Britifh  beer 
Your  wine-tipling,  dram-fipping  fellows  retreat, 
But  your  beer-drinking  Britons  can  never  be  beat. 

SONG    XLVIII. 
IN    PRAISE    OF    ALE. 

WHEN  the  chill  Sirocco  blows, 
And  winter  tells  a  heavy  tale, 
When  pies,  and  daws,  and  rooks,  and  crows, 
Do  fit  and  curfe  the  frofts  and  fnows, 
Then  give  me  ale. 

Ale  in  a  Saxon  rumkin  then, 
Such  as  will  make  Grimalkin  prate, 
Bids  valour  burgeon  in  tall  men, 
Quickens  the  poets  wit  and  pen, 
Defpifes  fate. 

Ale,  that  the  abfent  battle  fights, 
And  forms  the  march  of  Swedifh  drum, 
Difputes  with  princes,  laws  and  rights, 
What's  done  and  paft  tells  mortal  wights 

And  what's  to  come.  A' 


DRINKING    SONGS. 

Ale,  that  the  plowmans  heart  upkeeps, 
And  equals  it  to  tyrants  thrones, 
That  wipes  the  eye  that  over-weeps, 
And  lulls  in  fweet  and  dainty  fleeps, 
The  o'er  wearied  bones. 

Grand  child  of  Ceres,  Bacchus'  daughter, 
Wines  emulous  neighbour  if  but  ftale, 
Ennobling  all  the  nymphs  of  water, 
And  filling  each  mans  heart  with  laaghter, 
Oh  !  give  me  ale. 


SONG     XLIX. 
THE   EX-ALE-T  ATI  ON    OF  ALE. 

NOT  drunken,  nor  fober,  but  neighbour  to  both, 
I  met  with  a  friend  in  Alefbury  vale  ; 
He  faw  by  my  face,  that  I  was  in  good  cafe 
To  fpeak  no  great  harm  of  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

Then  did  he  me  greet,  and  faid,  fince  we  meet, 
(And  he  put  me  in  mind  of  the  name  of  the  dale) 

For  AlefLurys  fake  fome  pains  I  would  take, 
And  not  bury  the  praife  of  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

The  more  to  procure  me,  then  he  did  adjure  me 
If  the,  ale  I  drank 'laft  were  nappy  and  ftale, 

To  do  it  its  right,  and  ftir  up  my  fprite, 
And  fall  to  commend  a  pot  of  good  ale. 


Quoth 


DRINKING    SONGS.  59 

Quoth  T,  to  commend  it  I  dare  not  begin, 
Left  therein  my  credit  might  happen  to  fail ; 

For  many  men  now  do  count  it  a  fin, 

But  once  to  look  toward  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

Yet  I  care  not  a  pin,  for  I  fee  no  fuch  fin, 

Nor  any  thing  elfe  my  courage  to  quail  : 
For  this  we  do  find,  that  take  it  in  kind, 

Much  virtue  there  is  in  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

And  I  mean  not  to  tafte,  though  thereby  much  grac'd, 
Nor  the  merry-go-down  without  pull  or  hale, 

Perfuming  the  throat,  when  the  ftomach's  afloat, 
With  the  fragrant  fweet  fcent  of  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

Nor  yet  the  delight  that  comes  to  the  fight, 
To  fee  how  it  flowers  and  mantles  in  graile, 

As  green  as  a  leek,  with  a  fmile  in  the  cheek, 
The  true  orient  colour  of  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

But  I  mean  the  mind  and  the  good  it  doth  find  ; 

Not  only  the  body  fo  feeble  and  frail  ; 
For  body  and  foul  mny  blcfs  the  black  bowl, 

Since  both  are  beholden  to  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

For  when  heavinefs  the  mind  doth  opprefs, 

And  forrow  and  grief  the  heart  do  afTail,  v 

No  remedy  quicker  than  to  take  off  your  liquor, 
And  to  warn  away  cares  with  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

The  widow  that  buried,  her  hufband  of  late, 
Will  foon  have  forgotten  lo  weep  and  to  wail. 

And  think  every  day  twain,  till  fhe  marry  again, 
If  fhe  read  the  contents  of  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

It 


60  DRINKING    SONGS. 

It  is  like  the  belly-blaft  to  a  cold  heart, 
And  warms  and  engenders  the  fpirits  vitale, 

To  keep  them  from  damage  all  fp'rits  owe  their  homage, 
To  the  fprite  of  the  buttery,  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

And  down  the  legs  to  the  virtue  doth  go, 
And  to  a  bad  footman  is  as  good  as  a  fail  ; 

When  it  fills  the  veins,  and  makes  light  the  brains ; 
No  lacky  fo  nimble  as  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

The  naked  complains  not  for  want  of  a  coat, 
Nor  on  the  cold  weather  will  once  turn  his  tail ; 

All  the  way  as  he  goes,  he  cuts  the  wind  with  his  nofe, 
If  he  be  but  well  wrapp'd  in.  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

The  hungry  man  takes  no  thought  for  his  meat, 
Though  his  ftomach  would  brook  a  ten-penny  nail  ; 

He  quite  forgets  hunger,  thinks  on  it  no  longer, 
If  he  touch  but  the  fparks  of  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

The  poor  man  will  praife  it,  fo4iath  he  good  caufe, 
That  all  the  year  eats  neither  partridge  nor  quail, 

But  fets  up  his  reft,  and  makes  up  his  feaft, 

With  a  cruft  of  brown  bread,  and  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

The  ftiepherd,  the  fower,  the  threfher,  the  mower, 
The  one  with  his  fcythe,-  the  other  with  his  flail, 

Take  them  out  by  the  poll,  on  the  peril  of  my  foul, 
All  will  hold  up  their  hands  to  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

The  blackfmith  whofe  bellows  all  fummer  do  blow, 
With  the  fire  in  his  face  ftill  without  e'er  a  veil, 

Though  his  throat  be  full  dry  he  will  tell  you  no  lie 
But  where  you  may  be  fure  of  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

Whoever 


DRINKING    SONGS.  61 

Whoever  denies  it,  the  pris'ners  will  praife  it, 
That  beg  at  the  grate  and,  lie  in  the  jail, 

For  even  in  their  fetters,  they  think  themfelves  better, 
May  they  get  but  a  twopenny  black  pot  of  good  ale. 

The  beggar  whofe  portion  is  always  his  prayers, 

Not  having  a  tatter  to  hang  on  his  tail, 
Is  as  rich  in  his  rags  as  the  churl  in  his  bags, 

If  he  once  but  ihakes  hands  with  a  tankard  of  ale. 

It  drives  his  poverty  clean  out  of  mind, 

Forgetting  his  brown  bread,  his  wallet  and  mail. 

He  walks  in  the  houfe  like  a  fix-footed  loufe, 
If  he  once  be  enrich'd  with  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

And  he  that  doth  dig  in  the  ditches  all  day, 
And  wearies  himfelf  quite  at  the  plough-tail, 

Will  fpeak  no  lefs  things  than  of  queens  and  of  kings, 
If  he  touch  but  the  top  of  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

'Tis  like  a  whetftone  to  a  blunt  wit, 
And  makes  a  fupply  where  nature  doth  fail ; 

The  dulleft  wit  foon  will  look  quito  through  the  moon, 
If  his  temples  be  wet  with  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

Then  Dick  to  his  dearling  full  boldly  dares  fpeak, 
Though  before  (iilly  fellow)  his  courage  did  quail, 

He  gives  her  the  fmouch,  with  his  hand  on  his  pouch, 
If  he  meet  by  the  way  with  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

And  it  makes  the  carter  a  courtier  ftraitway, 
With  rhetorical  terms  he  will  tell  his  tale, 

With  courtefies  great  ftore,  and  his  cap  up  before, 
Being  fchool'd  but  a  little  with  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

The 


62  DRINKING    SONGS. 

The  old  man  whofe  tongue  wags  fader  than  his  teeth, 
(For  old  age  by  nature  doth  drivel  and  drale) 

Will  frig  and  will  fling  like  a  dog  in  a  firing, 
If  he  warm  his  cold  blood  with  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

And  the  good  old  clerk  whofe  fight  waxeth  dark, 
And  ever  he  thinks  the  print  is  tSo  fmal!, 

He  will  fee  every  letter,  and  fay  fervice  better, 
If  he  glaze  but  his  eyes  with  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

The  cheeks  and  the  jaws  to  commend  it  have  caufe  ; 

For  where  they  were  late  but  even  wan  and  pale, 
.They  will  get  them  a  colour,  no  crimfon  is  fuller, 

By  the  true  dye  and  tinclurfc  of  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

Mark  her  enemies,  though  they  think  themfelves  wife, 
How  meagre  they  look,  with  how  low  a  wale, 

How  their  cheeks  do  fall,  without  fpirits  at 
That  alien  their  minds  from  a  pot  of  goo ^ 

And  now  that  the  grains  do  work  in  my  brains, 

Methinks  I  were  able  to  give  by  retail, 
Commodities  ftore,  a  dozen  and  more, 

That  flow  to  mankind  from  a  pot  of  good  ale( 

The  Mufes  would  mufe  any  mould  it  mifufe  : 
For  it  makes  them  to  ling  like  a  nightingale, 

With  a  lofty  trim  note,  having  warned  their  throat4 
With  the  Caballine  fp'ring  of  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

And  the  mufician  of  any  condition, 

It  will  make  him  reach  to  the  top  of  his  fcale ; 

It  will  clear  his  pipes,  and  moiften  his  lights, 
If  he  drink  alternatim  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

The 


DRINKING    SONGS..  63 

The  poet  divine  that  cannot  reach  wine, 

Becaufe  that  his  money  doth  many  times  fail, 

Will  hit  on  the  vein  to  make  a  good  ftrain, 
If  he  be  but  infpir'd  with  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

For  ballads  Elderton  never  had  beer, 

How  went  his  wit  in  them,  with  how  merry  a  gale  ; 
And  with.all  the  fails  up,  had  he  been  at  the  cup, 

And  warned  his  beard  with  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

And  the  power  of  it  mows,  no  whit  lefs  in  profe, 
It  will  fill  ones  phrafe,  and  fet  forth  his  tale  : 

Fill  him  but  a  bowl,  it  will  make  his  tongue  trouj, 
For  flowing  fpeech  flows  from  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

And  matter  philofopher,  if  he  drink  his  part, 
Will  not  trifle  his  time  in  the  huflc  or  the  (hale, 

But  go  to  the  kernel  by  the  depth  of  his  art, 
To  be  found  in  the  bottom  of  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

Give  a  fcholar  of  Oxford  a  pot  of  fixteen, 

And  put  him  to  prove  that  an  ape  hath  no  tail, 

And  fixteen  times  better  his  wit  vvill  be  feen, 

If  you  fetch  him  from  Botley  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

Thus  it  helps  fpeech  and  wit,  and  it  hurts  not  a  whit, 
Bat  rather  doth  further  the  virtues  morale, 

Then  think  it  not  much  if  a  little  I  touch, 
The  good  moral  parts  of  a  pot  of  good  ale, 

To  the  church  and  religion  it  is  a  good  friend, 
Or  elfe  our  forefathers  their  wifdom  did  fail, 

That  at  every  mile,  next  to  the  church  ftile, 
Set  a  confecrate  houfe  to  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

But 


64  DRINKING    SONGS. 

But  now,  as  they  fay,  beer  bears  it  away  j 
The  more  is  the  pity,  if  right  might  prevail ; 

For  with  this  fame  beer,  came  up  herefy  here, 
The  old  catholic  drink  is  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

The  churches  much  owe,  as  we  all  do  know, 
For  when  they  be  drooping  and  ready  to  fall, 

By  a  Whitfun  or  Church-ale  up  again  they  fhall  go, 
And  owe  their  repairing  to  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

Truth  will  do  it  right,  it  brings  truth  to  light, 
And  many  bad  matters  it  helps  to  reveal ; 

For  they  that  will  drink,  will  fpeak  what  they  think  : 
Tom  Tell-troth  lies  hid  in  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

It  is  JufHces  friend,  fhe  will  it  commend, 
For  all  is  here  ferved  by  meafure  and  tale  ; 

Now  true-tale,  and  good  meafure  are  Juftices  treafure, 
And  much  to  the  praife  of  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

And  next  I  alledge  it  is  Fortitudes  edge, 

For  a  very  cow- herd,  that  Ihrinks  like  a  fnail, 

Will  fwear  and  will  fwagger,  and  out  goes  his  dagger, 
If  he  be  but  arm'd  with  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

Yea  ale  hath  her  knights  and  fquires  of  degree, 
That  never  wore  corflet,  nor  yet  fhirt  of  mail, 

But  have  fought  their  fights  all,  'twixt  the  pot  and  the  wall, 
When  once  they  were  dubb'd  with  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

And  fure  it  will  make  a  man  fuddenly  wife, 
Ere- while  was  fcarce  able  to  tell  a  right  tale: 

It  will  open  his  jaw,  he  will  tell  you  the  law, 
As  made  a  right  bencher  of  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

Or 


DRINKING    SONGS.  65 

Or  he  that  will  make  a  bargain  to  gain, 
In  buying  or  fetting  his  goods  forth  to  fale, 

Muft  not  plod  in  the  mire,  but  fit  by  the  fire, 
And  feal  up  his  match  with  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

But  for  fobernefs  needs  muft:  I  confefs, 
The  matter  goes  hard;  and  few  do  prevail 

Not  to  go  too  deep,  but  temper  to  keep, 
Such  is  the  attractive  of  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

But  here's  an  amends,  which  will  make  all  frieods, 

And  ever  doth  tend  to  the  belt  avail ; 
If  you  take  it  too  deep  it  will  make  you  but  fleep  j 

So  comes  no  great  harm  of  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

If,  reeling,  they  happen  to  fall  to  the  ground, 
The  fall  is  not  great,  they  may  hold  by  the  rail : 

If  into  the  water,  they  cannot  be  drown'd, 
For  that  gift  is  given  to  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

If  drinking  about  they  chance  to  fall  out, 
Fear  not  that  alarm,  though  flefh  be  but  frail, 

It  will  prove  that  fome  blows,  or  at  moft  a  bloody  nofc, 
And  friends  again  ftrait  with  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

And  phyfic  will  favour  ale  as  it  is  bound, 

And  be  againit  beer  both  tooth  and  nail ; 
They  fend  up  ^nd  down,  all  over  the  town, 

To  get  for  their  patients  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

Their  ale  berries,  caudles,  and  pofiets  each  one, 

And  fyllabubs  made  at  the  milking  pail, 
Although  they  be  many,  beer  comes  not  in  any, 
But  all  are  compofed  with  a  pot  of  good  ale, 
VOL.  II.  -F  And 


66  DRINKING    SONGS. 

And  in  very  deed  the  hop's  but  a  weed, 
Brought  o'er  again  ft  law,  and  here  fet  to  fale : 

Would  the  law  were  renew'd,  and  no  more  beer  brew'd, 
But,  all  men  betake  them  to  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

The  law  that  will  take  it  under  his  wing, 
For,  at  every  law-day,  or  moot  of  the  hale, 

One  is  fworn  to  ferve  our  fovereign  lord  the  king, 
In  the  ancient  office  of  Conner  of  ale. 

There's  never  a  lord  of  a  manor  or  of  a  town, 

By  ftrand  or  by  land,  by  hill  or  by  dale, 
But  thinks  it  a  franchife,  and  a  flow'r  of  the  crown, 

To  hold  the  affize  of  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

And  though  there  lie  writs  from  the  courts  paramount, 
To  flay  the  proceedings  of  the  courts  paravaile  ; 

Law  favours  it  fo,  you  may  come,  you  may  go, 
There  lies  no  prohibition  tp  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

They  talk  much  of  ftate,  both  early  and  late, 

But  if  Gafcoigne  and  Spain  their  wine  mould  but  fail, 

No  remedy  then  with  us  Englifhmen, 

But  the  ftate  it  muft  ftand  by  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

But  they  that  fit  by  it,  are  good  men  and  quiet, 
No  dangerous  plotters  in  the  common-weal, 

Of  treafon  and  murder;   for  they  never  go  further 
Than  to  call  for,  and  pay  for  a  pot  of -good  ale. 

To  the  praife  of  Gambrivius,  that  good  Britim  king, 
That  devis'd  for  the  nation  (by  the  Welfhmens  tale) 

Seventeen  hundred  years  before  Chrift  did  fpring, 
The  happy  invention  of  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

They 


DRINKING    SONGS.  67 

The  North  they  will  praife  it,  and  praife  it  with  paflion, 

Where  every  river  gives  name  to  a  dale  : 
There  men  are  yet  living  that  are  of  th'old  falhion, 

No  nectar  they  know  but  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

The  Pi&s  and  the  Scots  for  ale  were  at  lots, 
So  high  was  the  ikill,  and  fo  kept  under  feal : 

The  Pifts  were  undone,  flain  each  mothers  fon, 
For  not  teaching  the  Scots  to  make  hether  ale. 

But  hither  and  thither,  it  (kills  not  much  whether:  x 

For  drink  muft  be  had,  men  live  not  by  kail, 

Nor  by  haver-banocks,  nor  by  haver-janocks, 
The  thing  the  Scots  live  on  is  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

Now,  if  ye  will  fay  it,  I  will  not  denay  it, 

That  many  a  man  it  brings  to  his  bale : 
Yet  what  fairer  end  can  one  wifti  to  his  friend, 

Than  to  die  by  the  part  of  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

Yet  let  not  the  innocent  bear  any  blame, 

It  is  tljeir  own  doings  to  break  o'er  the  pale  : 

And  neither  the  malt,  nor  the  good  wife  in  fault, 
If  any  be  potted  with  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

They  tell  whom  it  kills,   but  fay  not  a  word, 
How  many  a  man  liveth  both  found  and  hale, 

Though  he  drink  no  beer  any  day  in  the  year, 
By  the  radical  humour  of  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

But  to  fpeak  of  killing  them  am  I  not  willing  ; 

For  that  in  a  manner  were  but  to  rail  ; 
But  beer  hath  its  name,  'caufe  it  brings  tc  ier, 

Therefor  well  fare  fay  I  to  a  pot  of  go  d  ale. 

To° 


68  DRINKING    SONGS. 

Too  many  (I  wis)  with  their  deaths  prove  this, 
And  therefor  (if  ancient  records  do  not  fail) 

He  that  firft  brew'd  the  hop  was  rewarded  with  a  rope, 
And  found  his  beer  far  more  bitter  than  ale. 

O  ale  al  alendo)  the  liquor  of  life  ! 

That  I  had  but  a  mouth  as  big  as  a  whale  ! 
For  mine  is  but  little  to  touch  the  lead  tittle 

That  belongs  to  the  praife  of  a  pot  of  good  ale, 

Thus  (I  trow)  fome  virtues  I  have  mark'd  you  out, 

And  never  a  vice  in  all  this  long  trail, 
But  that  after  the  pot  there  cometh  a  mot, 

And  that's  th'only  blot  of  a  pot  of  good  ale. 

With  that  my  friend  faid,  that  blot  will  I  bear, 
You  have  done  very  well,  it  is  time  to  ftrike  fail, 

We'll  have  fix  pots  more,  though  I  die  on  the  fcore, 
To  make  all  this  good  of  a  pot  of  good  ale.  O. 


S  O  N  G    LI. 

ON    ALE.» 

WHILST  fome  in  epic  {trains  delight, 
Whilft  others  paftorals  invite, 
As  tafte  or  whim  prevail, 
Affift  me,  all  ye  tuneful  nine  ! 
Support  me  in  the  great  defign, 
To  15  ng  of  nappy  ale.. 

*  Thii  ballad  is  printed  as  mr.  Gays,  in  fome  editions  of  his  works. 

4  Some 


DRINKING    SONGS.  69 

Some  folks  of  cyder  make  a  rout, 
And  cyder's  well  enough  no  doubt, 

When  better  liquors  fail ; 
But  wine,  that's  richer,  better  ftill, 
E'en  wine  itfelf  (deny't  who  will) 

Muft  yield  to  nappy  ale. 

Rum,  brandy,  gin  with  choicelt  fmack, 
From  Holland  brought,  Batavia  'rack. 

All  thefe  will  nought  avail  ; 
To  chear  a  truly  Rritiih  heart, 
And  lively  fpirits  to  impart, 

Like  humming  nappy  ale. 

Oh !  whether  thee  I  clofely  hug 
In  honeft  can,  or  nut-brown  jug, 

Or  in  the  tankard  hail ; 
In  barrel  or  in  bottle  pent, 
I  give  the  gen'rous  fpirit  vent, 

Still  may  I  feaft  on  ale. 

But  chief  when  to  the  chearful  glafs, 
From  vefiel  pure  thy  ttreamlets  pafs, 

Then  moft  thy  charms  prevail ; 
Then,  then  I'll  bett,  and  take  the  odds, 
That  ne&ar,   drink  of  heathen  gods, 

Was  poor  compar'd  to  ale. 


Give 


DRINKING    SONGS. 

Give  me  a  bumper,  fill  it  up  : 
See  how  it  fparkles  in  the  cup  ; 

Oh  !  how  ftiall  I  regale  ! 
Can  any  tafte  this  drink  divine, 
And  then  compare  rum,   brandy,  wine, 

Or  aught  with  nappy  ale  ? 


Infpir'd  by  thee  the  warrior  fights, 
The  lover  woos,  the  poet  writes, 

And  .pens  the  pleafing  tale  ; 
And  ftill  in  Britains  ifle  confeft, 
Nought  animates  the  patriots  breaft 

Like  gen'rous  nappy  ale. 

High  church  and  low  oft  raife  a  flrife, 
And  oft  endanger  limb  and  life, 

Each  fludious  to  prevail  ; 
Yet  Whig  and  Tory,  oppofite 
In  all  things  elfe  do  both  unite 

In  praife  of  nappy  ale. 

Infpir'd  by  thee,  fhall  Crifpin  fing, 
Or  talk  of  freedom,  church,  and  king, 

And  balance  Europes  fcaie  ; 
While  his  rich  landlord  lays  out  fchemes 
Of  wealth  in  golden  South-fea  dreams, 

Th'effeas  of  nappy  ale. 


Obleil 


DRINKING    SONGS.  7l 

0  bleft  potation  !  ftill  by  thec, 
And  thy  companion,  liberty, 

Do  health  and  mirth  prevail ; 
Then  let  us  crown  the  can,  the  glafs, 
And  fportive  bid  the  minutes  pafs 

In  quaffing  nappy  ale. 

Ev'n  while  thefe  flanzas  I  indite, 
The  bar-bells  grateful  founds  invite 

Where  joy  can  neyer  fail. 
Adieu,  my  mufe,  adieu  !    I  hade 
To  gratify  my  longing  tafte 

With  copious  draughts  of  ale, 

SONG     LII.  • 

BACKE  and  fide  go  bare,  go  bare, 
Booth  foote  and  hande  go  colde  : 

But  bellye,  God  fende  thee  good  ale  ynoughe, 
Whether  it  be  newe  or  olde. 

I  Cannot  eate  but  lytle  meate, 
My  ftomacke  is  not  good ; 
But  fure  I  thinke  that  I  can  drynke 

With  him  that  weares  a  hood. 
Thoughe  I  go  bare  take  ye  no  care. 
I  am  nothinge  a  colde ; 

1  fluff  my  fkyn  fo  full  within, 

Of  ioly  good  ale  and  olde. 

»  From  «  A  ryght  pithy,  pleafaunt  and  merle  tomedie  !  Intytuled 
Gammer  Gartoni  Nedle."  London.  1575.  —This  very  humorous 
•ncient  drama  it  prefcrved,  amongft  divers  fimilarcuriofitiej,  in  the  excel- 
lent collection  of  old  plays  lately  published  by  mr,  Dodfley. 

Backe 


72  DRINKING    SONGS. 

Backe  and  fyde  go  bare,  go  bare, 
Booth  foote  and  hand  go  colde  : 

But,  belly,  God  fend  thee  good  ale  inoughe, 
Whether  it  he  new  or  olde. 


I  loue  no  roft,  but  a  nut-browne  tofle, 

And  a  crab  *  laid  in  the  fyre  j 
A  little  breade  mall  do  me  ftead, 

Much  breade  I  not  defyre. 
No  froft  nor  fnow,  nor  winds  I  trowe, 

Can  hurte  mee  if  I  wolde, 
I  am  fo  wrapt,  and  throwly  lapt, 

Of  ioly  good  ale  and  olde. 
Backe  and  fyde  go  bare,  &c. 

And  Tyb  my  wyfe,  that  as  her  lyfe, 

Loueth  well  good  ale  to  feeke, 
Full  oft  drynkes  mee,  tyll  ye  may  fee 

The  teares  run  downe  her  cheeke  : 
Then  doth  me  trowle  to  mee  the  bowle, 

Euen  as  a  mault-vvorme  fhuld  j 
And  fayth,  fweete  hart,  I  tooke  my  part 

Of  this  ioly  good  ale  and  olde. 
Backe  and  fyde  go  bare,  &c. 

Now  let  them  drynke  tyll  they  nod  and  winke, 

Even  as  good  felowes  ihoulde  doe  : 
They  mall  not  myfie  to  have  the  blifle, 

Good  ale  doth  bringe  men  to. 

*  Crab-apple. 

And 


DRINKING    SONGS.  73 

And  all  poore  foules  that  have  fcowred  boules 

Or  have  them  luftely  trolde, 
God  faue  the  lyues  of  them  and  their  wyues, 

Whether  they  be  yonge  or  olde. 
Backe  and  fyde  go  bare,  &c. 

SONG     LIII. 
THE    BROWN    JUG. 

IMITATED    FROM    THE    LATIN    OF    HIERONYMUS    AMALTHZUS. 

BY    THE    REV.     MR.    FAWKES. 

DEAR  Tom,  this  brown  jug,  that  now  foams  with 
mild  ale, 

(In  which  I  will  drink  to  fweet  Nan  of  the  vale) 
Was  once  Toby  Fillpot,  a  thirfty  old  foul 
As  e'er  drank  a  bottle,  or  fathom'd  a  bowl ; 
In  boofmg  about  'twas  his  praife  to  excell, 
And  among  jolly  topers  he  bore  off  the  bell. 

It  chanc'd,  as  in  dog-days  he  fat  at  his  eafe, 
In  his  flower-woven  arbour,  as  gay  as  you  pleafe, 
With  a  friend  and  a  pipe,  puffing  forrows  away, 
And  with  honeft  old  ftingo  was  foaking  his  clay, 
His  breath-doors  of  life  on  a  fudden  were  (hut, 
And  he  died  full  as  big  as  a  Dorchefter  butt. 

His  body  when  long  in  the  ground  it  had  lain, 

And  time  into  clay  had  refolv'd  it  again, 

A  potter  found  out  in  its  covert  fo  fnug, 

And  with  part  of  fat  Toby  he  form'd  this  brown  jug ; 

Now  facred  to  friendihip,  and  mirth,  and  mild  ale, 

So  here's  to  my  lovely  fweet  Nan  of  the  vale. 

SONG 


74  DRINKING    SONGS. 

SONG     LIV. 
THE     MAD    LOVER. 

BY     ALEXANDER     BROME. 

I  Have  been  in  love,  and  in  debt,  and  in  drink, 
This  many  and  many  a- year  ; 
And  thofe  three  are  plagues  enough,  one  would  think, 

For  one  poor  mortal  to  bear. 
'Twas  drink  made  me  fall  into  love, 
And  love  made  me  run  into  debt ; 
And  though  I  have  ftruggled,  and  flruggled,  and  ftrove, 
I  cannot  get  out  of  them  yet. 

There's  nothing  but  money  can  cure  me, 
And  rid  me  of  all  my  pain, 
'Twill  pay  all  my  debts, 
And  remove  all  my  lets  j 
And  my  miftrefs  that  cannot  endure  me, 

Will  love  me,  and  love  me  again  : 
Then  I'll  fall  to  loving  and  drinking  again. 

'  S  O  N.G     LV. 

UPBRAID  me  not,  capricious  fair, 
With  drinking  to  excefs  ; 
I  mould  not  want  to  drown  defpair, 
Were  your  indifference  lefs. 

Love  me,  my  dear,  and  you  (hall  find. 

When  this  excufe  is  gone  ; 
That  all  my  blifs,  when  Chloe's  kind, 

Is  nx'd  on  her  alone. 


The 


DRINKING    SONGS.  75 

The  god  of  wine  the  victory 

To  beauty  yields  with  joy  ; 
For  Bacchus  only  drinks  like  me, 

When  Ariadne's  coy. 

SONG     LVI. 

BY     MR.    WILLIAM    WOTY. 

MY  temples  with  clufters  of  grapes  I'll  entwine, 
And  barter  all  joys  for  a  goblet  of  wine. 
In  fearch  of  a  Venus  no  longer  I'll  run, 
But  flop  and  forget  her  at  Bacchuses  tun. 

Yet  why  this  refolve  to  relinquifh  the  fair? 
'Tis  a  folly  with  fpirits  like  mine  to  defpair. 
And  pray  what  mighty  joys  can  be  found  in  a  glaf?, 
If  not  fill'd  to  the  health  of  a  favourite  lafs, 

'Tis  woman,  whofe  joys  every  rapture  impart, 
And  lend  a  new  fpring  to  the  pulfe  of  the  heart. 
The  mifer  himfelf  (fo  fupreme  is  her  fway) 
Grows  a  convert  to  love,  and  refigns  her  his  key. 

At  the  found  of  her  voice  Sorrow  lifts  up  her  head, 
And  poverty  liftenswell  pleas'd  from  her  fhed; 
Whilft  Age  in  half  ecftacy  hobbling  along, 
Beats  time  with  his  crutch  to  the  tune  of  her  fong. 

Then  fill  me  a  goblet  from  Bacchuses  hoard, 
The  largeft,  the  deepeft  that  ftands  on  the  board: 
I'll  fill  up  a  brimmer,  and  drink  to  the  fair, 
'Tis  the  thirit  of  a  lover,  then  pledge  me  who  dare. 

SONG 


;$  DRINKING    SONGS. 

SONG     LVII. 
THE     UNION. 

BY      THE       SAME. 

WITH  women  and  wine  I  defy  every  care, 
For  life  without  thefe  is  a  bubble  of  air ; 
Fach  helping  the  other,  in  pleafure  I  roll, 
And  a  new  flow  of  fpirits  enlivens  my  foul, 

Let  grave  fober  mortals  my  maxims  condemn, 

I  never  (hall  alter  my  conduct  for  them  ; 

I  care  not  how  much  they  my  meafures  decline, 

Let  them  have  their  own  humour— and  I  will  have  mine. 

Wine,  prudently  us'd,  will  our  fenfes  improve ; 

' Tis  the  fpring-tide  of  life,   and  the  fuel  of  love  ; 

And  Venus  ne'er  look'd  with  a  fmile  fo  divine, 

As  when  Mars  bound  his  head  with  a  branch  of  the  vine. 

Then  cnme,  my  dear  charmer!  thou  nymph  half  divine! 
Firft  pledge  me  with  kifles— next  pledge  me  with  wine  ; 
Then  giving,  and  taking,  in  mutual  return, 
The  torch  of  our  loves  {hall  eternally  burn. 

But  Ihould'fl  thou  my  paflion  for  wine  difapprove, 
My  bumper  I'll  quit  to  be  blefs'd  with  thy  love; 
For  rather  than  forfeit  the  joys  of  my  lafs, 
My  bottle  I'll  break,  and  demoliih  my  glafs. 

SONG 


DRINKING    SONGS. 

SONG     LVIII. 
BY    WILLIAM    SHENSTONE 


77 


ADIEU,  ye  jovial  youths,  who  join 
To  plunge  old  Care  in  floods  of  wine  ; 
And,  as  your  dazzled  eye-balls  roll, 
Difcern  him  ftruggling  in  the  bowl. 

Not  yet  is  hope  fo  wholly  flown, 
Not  yet  is  thought  fo  tedious  grown, 
But  limpid  ftream  and  fliady  tree 
Retain,  as  yet,  fome  fweets  for  me. 

And  fee,  through  yonder  filent  grove, 
See  yonder  does  my  Daphne  rove  : 
With  pride  her  foot-fteps  I  purfue, 
And  bid  your  frantic  joys  adieu. 

The  fole  confufion  I  admire, 
Is  that  my  Daphnes  eyes  infpire  : 
1  fcorn  the  madnefs  you  approve, 
And  value  Reafon  next  to  Love, 


PART  THE  THIRD. 


MISCELLANEOUS  SONGS. 


MISCELLANEOUS  SONGS. 


SONG     I. 

MY  mind  to  me  a  kingdom  is ; 
Such  perfeft  joy  therein  I  find, 
As  far  exceeds  all  earthly  blifs, 

That  God  or  Nature  hath  affign'd: 
Though  much  I  want  that  moft  would  have, 
Yet  ftill  my  mind  forbids  to  crave. 

Content  I  live,  this  is  my  flay ; 

I  feek  no  more  than  may  fuffice : 
I  prefs  to  bear  no  haughty  fway ; 

Look  what  I  lack  my  mind  fuppliej. 
Lo!  thus  I  triumph  like  a  king, 
Content  with  that  my  mind  doth  bring. 

VOL,  II.  tt 


I  fee 


2          MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

I  fee  how  plenty  furfelts  oft, 

And  hafty  climbers  fooneft  fall ; 
I  fee  that  fuch  as  fit  aloft 

Mifhap  doth  threaten  moft  of  all : 
Thefe  get  with  toil,  and  keep  with  fear : 
Such  cares  my  mind  could  never  bear. 


No  princely  pomp,  nor  wealthy  ftore, 

No  force  to  win  a  victory, 
No  wily  wit  to  falve  a  fore, 

No  fhape  to  win  a  lovers  eye; 
To  none  of  thefe  I  yield  as  thrall, 
For  why  my  mind  defpifeth  all. 

Some  have  too  much,  yet  ftill  they  crave, 

I  little  have  yet  feek  no  more  : 
They  are  but  poor,  though  much  they  have; 

And  I  am  rich  with  little  ftore: 
They  poor,  I  rich ;  they  beg,  I  give ; 
They  lack,  I  lend  ;  they  pine,  I  live. 

I  laugh  not  at  anothers  lofs, 

I  grudge  not  at  anothers  gain  ; 
No  worldly  wave  my  mind  can  tofs, 

I  brook  that  is  anothers  bane : 
I  fear  no  foe,  nor  fawn  on  friend ; 
I  loath  not  life,  nor  dread  mine  end. 


My 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 
My  wealth  is  health,  and  perfed  eafe ; 

My  confcience  clear  my  chief  defence : 
I  never  feek  by  bribes  to  pleafe, 

Nor  by  defert  to  give  offence  : 
Thus  do  I  live,  thus  will  I  die ; 
Would  all  did  fo  as  well  as  I. 

I  joy  not  in  no  earthly  blifs ; 

I  weigh  not  Crefus'  wealth  a  ftraw; 
For  care,  I  care  not  what  it  is ; 

I  fear  not  Fortunes  fatal  law : 
My  mind  is  fuch  as  may  not  move 
For  beauty  bright  or  force  of  love. 

I  wifh  but  what  I  have  at  will ; 

I  wander  not  to  feek  for  more ; 
I  like  the  plain,  1  climb  no  hill ; 

In  greateft  ftorms  I  fit  on  more, 
And  laugh  at  them  that  toil  in  vain 
To  get  what  muft  be  loft  again. 

I  kifs  not  where  I  wifh  to  kill ; 

I  feign  not  love  where  moft  I  hate ; 
I  break  no  fleep  to  win  my  will ; 

I  wait  not  at  the  mightys  gate ; 
1  fcorn  no  poor,  I  fear  no  rich ; 
I  feel  no  want  nor  have  too  much. 


G  2  The 


r*  MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

The  court,  ne  cart,  I  like  ne  loath  ; 

Extremes  are  counted  worft  of  all ; 
The  golden  mean  betwixt  them  both, 

Doth  fureft  fit,  and  fears  no  fall ; 
This  is  my  choice,  for  why  I  find 
No  wealth  is  like  a  quiet  mind.  O. 


SONG     II. 
BY    THE     COUNTESS    OF    WINCHELSEA. 

WOULD  we  attain  the  happieft  ftate, 
That  is  defign'd  us  here ; 
No  joy  a  rapture  muft  create, 
No  grief  beget  defpair. 

No  injury  fierce  anger  raife, 

No  honour  tempt  to  pride  ; 
No  vain  defires  of  empty  praife 

Muft  in  the  foul  abide. 

No  charms  of  youth,  or  beauty  move 

The  conftant  fettled  brcaft  : 
Who  leaves  a  paflage  free  to  love, 

Shall  let  in  all  the  reft. 

In  fuch  a  heart  foft  peace  will  live, 

Where  none  of  thefe  abound ; 
The  greateft  bleffing  Heaven  does  give, 

Or  can  on  earth  be  found. 

SONG 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.  85 

SONG     III. 
BY    MR.    W.    BEDINGFIELD. 

TO  hug  yourfelf  in  perfeft  eafe, 
What  would  you  wifh  for  more  than  thefe  ? 
A  healthy,  clean,  paternal  feat, 
Well  lhaded  from  the  fummers  heat. 

A  little  parlour  flove  to  hold 
A  conftant  fire  from  winters  cold, 
Where  you  may  fit,  and  think,  and  fing, 
Far  off  from  court,  God  blefs  the  King  ! 

Safe  from  the  harpies  of  the  law, 
From  party-rage,  and  great  mans  paw; 
Have  choice  few  friends  of  your  own  tafle; 
A  wife  agreeable  and  chafte. 

An  open,  but  yet  cautious  mind, 
Where  guilty  cares  no  entrance  find ; 
Nor  mifers  fears,  nor  envys  fpite, 
To  break  the  fabbath  of  the  night. 

Plain  equipage,  and  temp'rate  meals, 
Few  taylors,  and  no  dodors  bills; 
Content  to  take,  as  Heaven  (hall  pleafe, 
A  longer  or  a  Ihorter  leafe. 

n  ,  SONG 


$6          MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 
SONG     IV. 

BY     MRS.     PILKINGTON. 

I  Envy  not  the  proud  their  wealth, 
Their  equipage  and  ftate; 
Give  me  but  innocence  and  health 
I  afk  not  to  be  great. 

• 
I  in  this  fweet  retirement  find 

A  joy  unknown  to  kings, 
For  fcepters  to  a  virtuous  mind, 

Seem  vain  and  empty  things. 

Great  Cincinnatus  at  his  plough, 

With  brighter  luftre  fhone, 
Than  guilty  Caefar  e'er  could  mew, 

Though  feated  on  a  throne. 

Tumultuous  days,  and  reftlefs  nights, 

Ambition  ever  knows, 
A  ftranger  to  the  calm  delights 

Of  ftudy  and  repofe. 

Then  free  from  envy,  care,  and  ftrife, 

Keep  me,  ye  powers  divine ; 
And  pleas'd,  when  ye  demand  my  life, 

May  I  that  life  refign. 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.          87 

SONG     V. 

THE  CHARACTER  OF  A  HAPPY  LIFE. 
BY    SIR    HENRY    WOTTON. 

HOW  happy  is  he  born  and  taught, 
That  ferveth  not  anothers  will ; 
Whofe  armour  is  his  honeft  thought, 
And  fimple  truth  his  utmolt  fkill. 

Whofe  paflions  not  his  mafters  are, 

Whofe  foul  is  ftill  prepar'd  for  death; 
Untied  unto  the  world  by  care 

Of  publick  fame,  or  private  breath. 

Who  envies  none  that  chance  doth  raife, 

Nor  vice  hath  ever  underftood  ; 
How  deepeft  wounds  are  given  by  praife, 

Nor  rules  of  Hate,  but  rules  of  good. 

Who  hath  his  life  from  rumours  freed, 
Whofe  confcience  is  his  ftrong  retreat : 

Whofe  ftate  can  neither  flatterers  feed, 
Nor  ruin  make  oppreflbrs  great. 

Who  God  doth  late  and  early  pray, 

More  of  his  grace  than  gifts  to  lend : 
And  entertains  the  harmlefs  day 

With  a  religious  book  or  friend. 


88  MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

This  man  is  freed  from  fervile  hands, 

Of  hope  to  rife,  or  fear  to  fall : 
Lord  of  himfelf,  though  not  of  lands, 
*  And  having  nothing,  yet  hath  all. 


SONG     VI. 

BY    HJLDEBRAND    JACOB     ESQ.; 

I  Envy  not  the  mighty  great, 
Thofe  powerful  rulers  of  the  ftate, 
Who  fettle  nations  as  they  pleafe, 
And  govern  at  th'  expence  of  eafe. 

Far  happier  thelhepherds  fwain, 
Who  daily  drudges  on  the  plain, 
And  nightly  in  fome  humble  fhed 
On  rulhy  pillows  lays  his  head. 

No  curs'd  ambition  breaks  his  reft, 
No  faftious  wars  divide  his  breaft : 
His  flock,  his  pipe,  and  artlefs  fair, 
Are  all  his  hope,  and  all  his  care, 

SONG     VII. 

WHAT  man  in  his  wits,  had  not  rather  b6  poor, 
Than  for  lucre  his  freedom  to  give  ? 
Ever  bufy  the  means  of  his  life  to  fecure, 
And  fo  ever  neglecting  to  live  ? 


Inviroa'd 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.  89 

Inviron'd  from  morning  to  night  in  a  croud, 

Not  a  moment  unbent,  or  alone  : 
Conftrain'd  to  be  abjeft,  though  never  fo  proud, 

And  at  every  ones  call  but  his  own  : 

Still  repining  and  longing  for  quiet  each  hour, 

Yet  ftudioufly  flying  it  ftill; 
With  the  means  of  enjoying  his  wiih  in  his  pow'r, 

But  accurft  with  his  wanting  the  will. 

For  a  year  muft  be  pad,  or  a  day  njuft  be  come, 

Before  he  has  leifure  to  reft  : 
He  muft  add  to  his  ftore  this,  or  that,  pretty  fum  ; 

And  then  will  have  time  to  be  bleft. 

But  his  gains,  more  bewitching  the  more  they  increafe, 

Only  fwell  the  defire  of  his  eye: 
Such  a  wretch  let  mine  enemy  live,  if  he  pleafe  j 

Let  not  even  mine  enemy  die. 

SONG     VIII. 

NO  glory  I  covet,  no  riches  I  want, 
Ambition  is  nothing  to  me  ; 
The  one  thing  I  beg  of  kind  Heaven  to  grant. 
Is  a  mind  independent  and  free. 

With  paflions  unruffled,  untainted  with  pride, 

By  reafon  my  life  let  me  fquare  ; 
The  wants  of  my  nature  are  cheaply  fupplied, 

And  the  reft  are  but  folly  and  care. 

The 


90         MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

The  bleffings  which  Providence  freely  has  lent, 

I'll  juflly  and  gratefully  prize  j 
Whilft  fweet  meditation,  and  chearful  content. 

Shall  make  me  both  healthful  and  wife. 

In  the  pleafures  the  great  mans  pofleffions  difplay, 

Unenvied  I'll  challenge  my  part ; 
For  every  fair  object  my  eyes  can  furvey, 

Contributes  to  gladden  my  heart. 

How  vainly,  through  infinite  trouble  and  flrife, 

The  many  their  labours  employ  ! 
Since  all  that  is  truly  delightful  in  life 

Is  what  all,  if  they  pleafe,  may  enjoy. 

SONG     IX. 

SOME  hoift  up  Fortune  to  the  Ikies, 
Others  debafe  her  to  a  bubble ; 
I  nor  her  frowns  nor  favours  prize, 

Nor  think  the  changeling  worth  my  trouble. 

If  at  my  door  fhe  chance  to  light, 

I  civilly  my  gueft  receive  ; 
The  vifit  paid,  I  bid  good  night; 

Nor  murmur  when  Ihe  takes  her  leave. 

Though  profperous  gales  my  canvas  croud, 
Though  fmooth  the  waves,  ferene  the  iky, 

I  truft  not  calms  ;  they  florins  forebode, 
And  fpeak  th'  approaching  tempeft  nigh. 

Then 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.          9i 

Then,  Virtue,  to  the  helm  repair, 

Thou,  Innocence,  {halt  guide  the  oar ; 
Now  rage,  ye  winds !  ftorms,  rend  the  air! 

My  bark,  thus  mann'd,  ihall  gain  the  ihore. 


SONG     X. 

B  Y    J  AMES    SHIRLEY.* 

THE  glories  of  our  birth  and  flare,  % 

Are  fhadows,  not  fubftantial  things ; 
There  is  no  armour  againft  fate ; 
Death  lays  his  icy  hands  on  kingsr: 
Scepter  and  crown 
Mull  tumble  down, 
And  in  the  duft  be  equal  made 
With  the  poor  crooked  fey  the  and  fpade. 

Some  men  with  fwords  may  reap  the  field, 
And  plant  frefh  laurels  where  they  kill 
But  their  ftrong  nerves  at  laft  muft  yieW, 
They  tame  but  one  another  ftill, 
Early  or  late 
They  ftoop  to  fate, 

And  muft  give  up  their  murm'ring  breitb, 
When  the  pale  captive  creeps  to  death. 

*Thtfefine  moral  ftanzas  were  originally  intended  for  a  foUmn  ft- 
.etalfog   in  «  The  Contention   of  **•*«**!**! 
feave  been  a  favourite  Cong  with  King  Charles  II.    PERCY.  I. 

The 


92  MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

The  laurel  withers  on  your  brow, 

Then  boaft  no  more  your  mighty  deeds, 
Upon  Deaths  purple  altar  now 

See  where  the  vi&or  vi&im  bleeds  j 
All  heads  muft  come 
To  the  cold  tomb  : 
Only  the  a&ions  of  the  juft 
Smell  fweet,  and  bloflbm  in  the  duft. 


SONG     XI. 

BY     DR.      DALTON.  * 

NOR  on  beds  of  fading  flowers, 
Shedding  foon  their  gawdy  pride 
Nor  with  fwains  in  Syren  bowers 
Will  true  pleafure  long  refide. 

On  aweful  Virtues  hill  fublime, 
Enthroned  fits  th'  immortal  fair; 

Who  wins  her  height  muft  patient  climb, 
The  ftcps  are  peril,  toil,  and  care. 

So  from  the  firft  did  Jove  ordain, 
Eternal  blifs  for  transient  pain. 


*  In  the  Ma<que  of  Comus.— It  feems  to  be  imitated  from  a  paflage 
in  the  i/th  book  of  Taflos  Jerufalem. 


SONG 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.  93 

SONG     XII. 

FROM    METASTASIO.» 
BY     MR.     HOOLE. 

WHAT  frenzy  mull  his  foul  poflefs, 
Whofe  hopes  on  evil  deeds  depend ! 
For  though  the  wicked  meet  fuccefs, 
Yet  peace  can  ne'er  their  fteps  attend. 

For  ev'n  in  lifes  fereneft  ftate, 

Shall  Vice  receive  her  fecret  fling ; 
As  Virtue,  though  deprefs'd  by  fate, 

Herfelf  her  own  reward  fhall  bring. 

SONG     XIII. 

BY     THE     REV.    THOMAS    WARTON. 

TO  tinkling  brooks,  to  twilight  ftiades, 
To  defert  profpe&s  rough  and  rude, 
With  youthful  rapture  firfl  I  ran, 
Enamour'd  of  fweet  folitude. 

On  beauty  next  I  wondering  gaz'd, 
Too  foon  my  fupple  heart  was  caught: 

An  eye,  a  breaft,  a  lip,  a  fhape, 
Was  all  I  talk'd  of,  all  I  thought. 

Next,  by  the  fmiling  Mufes  led, 

On  Pindus  laurel'd  top  t  dream, 
Talk  with  old  bards,  and  liftening  hear 

The  warbles  of  th'  inchanting  dream. 
«  In  the  opsra  of  Hypfipile. 

Then 


94  MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

Thea  Harmony  and  Pi&ure  came 
Twin-nymphs  my  fenfe  to  entertain, 

By  turns  my  eye,  my  ear  was  caught, 

With  Raphaels  ftrokes  and  Handels  flrain. 

At  laft,  fuch  various  pleafures  prov'd, 
All  cloying,  vain,  unmanly  found, 

Sweet  for  a  time  as  morning  dew, 
Yet  parents  of  fome  painful  wound. 

Humbly  I  afk'd  great  Wifdoms  aid, 
To  true  delight  to  lead  my  feet ; 

When  thus  the  goddefs  whifpering  faid, 
"  Virtue  alone  is  blifs  complete." 


SONG    XIV. 

BY     MR.     GARRICK.  * 

COME,  come,  my  good  fhepherds,  our  flocks  we  muft 
{hear; 

In  your  holiday  fuits,  with  your  lafles  appear : 
The  happieft  of  folk  are  the  guiltlefs  and  free, 
And  who  are  fo  guiltlefs,  fo  happy  as  we  ? 

We  harbour  no  paffions,  by  luxury  taught, 

We  pra&ife  no  arts,  with  hypocrify  fraught ; 

What  we  think  in  our  hearts,  you  may  read  in  our  eyes  ; 

For  knowing  no  falfehood,  we  need  no  difguife. 

•  Sung  by  a  fliepherdefs,  at  the  Sheep- /bearing  ID  Florize!  and  Perdita. 
4  By 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.         9.5 

By  mode  and  caprice  are  the  city  dames  led, 

But  we,  as  the  children  of  nature  are  bred  ; 

By  her  hand  alone,  we  are  painted,  and  drefi'd  ; 

For  the  rofes  will  bloom,  when  there's  peace  in  the  breaH. 

That  giant  Ambition  we  never  can  dread, 
Our  roofs  are  too  low  for  fo  lofty  a  head; 
Content  and  fweet  Chearfulnefs  open  our  door, 
They  fmile  with  the  fimple,  and  feed  with  the  poor. 

When  love  has  poflefs'd  us,  that  love  we  reveal ; 
Like  the  flocks  that  we  feed  are  the  paffions  we  feel : 
So  harmlefs  and  fimple  we  fport,  and  we  play, 
And  leave  to  fine  folks  to  deceive  and  betray. 


SONG    XV. 

A     COUNTRY    LIFE. 

•  Y    MRS.    KATHERINE    PHILIPS. 

"   THE    CELEBRATED   OaiNDA." 

HOW  facred  and  how  innocent 
A  country  life  appears, 
How  free  from  tumult,  difcontent, 
From  flattery  or  fears ! 

This  was  the  firft  and  happieft  life, 

When  man  enjoy'd  himfelf ; 
Till  pride  exchanged  peace  for  ilrif«, 

And  happinefs  for  pelf. 


96  MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

*Twas  here  the  poets  were  infpir'd, 

Here  taught  the  multitude  j 
The  brave  they  here  with  honour  fir'd, 

And  civiliz'd  the  rude. 

That  golden  age  did  entertain 

No  paffion  but  of  love ; 
The  thoughts  of  ruling  and  of  gain 

Did  ne'er  their  fancies  move. 

None  then  did  envy  neighbours  wealth, 

Nor  plot  to  wrong  his  bed  : 
Happy  in  fiiendlhip  and  in  health, 

On  roots,  not  beafts,  they  fed. 

They  knew  no  law  nor  phyfic  then, 

Nature  was  all  their  wit: 
And  if  there  yet  remain  to  men 

Content,  fare  this  is  it. 

What  bleffings  doth  this  world  afford 

To  tempt  or  bribe  defire  ? 
Her  courtfhip  is  all  fire  and  fword, 

Who  would  not  then  retire  ? 

Then  welcome,  deareft  folitude, 

My  great  felicity ; 
Though  fome  are  pleas'd  to  call  thee  rude, 

Thou  art  not  fo,  but  we. 

Them  that  do  covet  only  reft, 

A  cottage  will  fuffice  : 
It  is  not  brave  to  be  pofleft 

Of  earth,  but  to  defpife. 

5  Opinio» 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.         97 

Opinion  is  the  rate  of  things, 

From  hence  our  peace  doth  flow ; 
I  have  a  better  fate  than  kings, 

Becaufe  I  think  it  fo. 

When  all  the  ftormy  world  doth  roar 

How  unconcern'd  am  I  ? 
I  cannot  fear  to  tumble  lower 

Who  never  could  be  high. 

Secure  in  thefe  unenvied  walls 

I  think  not  on  the  ftate, 
And  pity  no  mans  cafe  that  falls 

From  his  ambitious  height. 

Silence  and  innocence  are  fafe; 

A  heart  that's  only  true 
At  all  thefe  little  arts  can  laugh 

That  do  the  world  fubdue. 

While  others  revel  it  in  ftate, 

Here  I'll  contented  fit, 
And  think  I  have  as  good  a  fate 

As  wealth  and  pomp  admit. 

Let  fome  in  courtfhip  take  delight, 

And  to  th'  Exchange  refort ; 
Then  revel  out  a  winters  night, 

Not  making  love  but  fport. 

Thefe  never  knew  a  noble  flame, 

'Tis  luft,  fcorn,  or  defign  : 
While  vanity  plays  all  their  game, 

Let  peace  and  honour  mine. 
VOL,  II.  H  When 


98          MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

When  the  inviting  fpring  appears, 

To  Hyde-park  let  them  go, 
And,  hailing  thence,  be  full  of  fears 

To  lofe  Spring  garden  fhow. 

Let  others,  nobler,  feek  to  gain 

In  knowlege  happy  fate, 
And  others  bufy  chem  in  vain 

To  ftudy  ways  of  ftate. 

But  I,  refolved  from  within, 

Confirmed  from  without, 
In  privacy  intend  to  fpin 

My  future  minutes  out. 

And  from  this  hermitage  of  mine 

I  banifh  all  wild  toys, 
And  nothing  that  is  not  divine 

Shall  dare  to  tempt  my  joys. 

There  are  below  but  two  things  good, 

Friendfhip  and  honefty, 
And  only  thofe  of  all  I  would 

Afk  for  felicity. 

In  this  retir'd  and  humble  feat, 
Free  from  both  war  and  ftrife, 

I  am  not  forc'd  to  make  retreat, 
But  chufe  to  fpend  my  life. 


SONG 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.          99 

SONG     XVI. 
A     MORAL     THOUGHT. 

BY     DR.     HAWKES  WORTH. 

THROUGH  groves  fequefler'd,  dark,  and  flill, 
Low  vales,  and  moily  cells  among, 
In  filent  paths  the  carelefs  till, 

Which  languid  murmurs,  fteals  along. 

Awhile  it  plays  with  circling  fweep, 

And  lingering  leaves  its  native  plain, 
Then  pours  impetuous  down  the  deep, 

And  mingles  with  the  boundlefs  main. 

O  let  my  years  thus  devious  glide, 

Through  filent  fcenes  obfcurely  calm, 
Nor  wealth  nor  ftrife  pollute  the  tide, 

Nor  honours  fanguinary  palm. 

When  labour  tires,  and  pleafure  palls, 

Still  let  the  flream  untroubled  be, 
As  down  the  fleep  of  age  it  falls, 

And  mingles  with  eternity. 

SONG     XVII. 
TO     IDLENESS. 

BY     MR.     CHRISTOPHER    SMART. 

ODDESS  of  eafe,  leave  Lethes  brink, 

Obfequious  to  the  Mufe  and  me; 
For  once  endure  the  pain  to  think, 
O  fweet  Infenfibility! 

Hz  sifter 


G 


1OO 

Sifter  of  Peace  and  Indolence, 

Bring  mufe,  bring  numbers  foft  and  flow; 
Elaborately  void  of  fenfe, 

And  fweetly  thoughtlefs  let  them  flow. 

Near  to  fome  cowflip -painted  mead, 

There  let  me  dofe  out  the  dull  hours ; 
And  under  me  let  Flora  fpread 

A  fofa  of  the  fofteft  flowers. 

Where,  Philomel,  your  notes  you  breathe, 
Forth  from  behind  the  neighb'ring  pine ; 

While  murmurs  of  the  ftream  beneath 
Still  flow  in  unifon  with  thine. 

For  thee,  oldlenefs!   the  woes 

Of  life  we  patiently  endure; 
Thou  art  the  fource  whence  labour  flows, 

We  fhun  thee  but  to  make  thee  fure. 

For  who'd  fuftain  wars  toil  and  wafle, 

Or  who  th'  hoarfe  thund'ring  of  the  fea, 
But  to  be  idle  at  the  laft, 

And  find  a  pleating  end  in  thee  ? 

SONG    XVIII. 

FROM  the  court  to  the  cottage  convey  me  away, 
For  I'm  weary  of  grandeur,  and  what  they  call  gay : 
Where  pride  without  meafure, 
And  pomp  without  pleafure, 
Make  life  in  a  circle  of  hurry  decay. 

Far 


MISCELLANEOUS     SONGS.         101 

Far  remote  and  retir'd  from,  the  noife  of  the  town, 
I'll  exchange  my  brocade  for  a  plain  ruflet  gown; 

My  friends  (hall  be  few 

But  well  chofen  and  true, 
And  fweet  recreation  our  evening  flinll  crown. 

With  a  rural  repaft,  a  rich  banquet  for  me, 

On  a  moffy  green  turf,  near  fome  (hady  old  tree; 

The  livers  clear  brink, 

Shall  afford  me  my  drink, 
And  Temp'rance  my  friendly  phyfician  (hall  be. 

Ever  calm  and  ferene,  with  contentment  ftill  bleft, 
Not  too  giddy  with  joy,  or  with  forrcw  depreft, 

I'll  neither  invoke, 

Or  repine  at  Deaths  ftroke, 
But  retire  from  the  world,  as  I  would  to  my  reft. 

SONG     XIX. 

PRINCES  that  rule,  and  empire  fway, 
How  tranfitory  is  their  flate ! 
Sorrows  the  glories  do  allay, 

And  richeft  crowns  have  greateft  weight. 

The  mighty  monarch  treafon  fears, 

Ambitious  thoughts  within  him  rave; 
His  life  all  difcontents  and  cares ; 

And  he  at  beft  is  but  a  flave. 

Vainly  we  think  with  fond  delight 

To  ceafe  the  burden  of  our  cares ; 
Each  grief  a  fecond  does  invite,  ^ 

And  forrows  are  each  others  heirs. 

H3  For 


102          MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

For  me,  my  honour  I'll  maintain, 

Be  gallant,  generous,  and  brave; 
And  when  I  quietude  would  gain, 

At  leaft  I  find  it  in  the  grave. 


SONG     XX. 
THE     DIRGE. 

BY  DR.  HENRY  KING,   BISHOP  OF  CHICHESTER. 

"HAT  is  th'exiftence  of  mans  life  ? 
But  open  war,  or  flumber'd  ftrife, 
Where  ficknefs  to  his  fenfe  prefents 
The  combat  of  the  elements  : 
And  never  feels  a  perfed  peace 
Till  Deaths  cold  hand  figns  his  releafe. 

It  is  a  ftorm  where  the  hot  blood 

Out-vies  in  rage  the  boiling  flood  ; 

And  each  loud  paffion  of  the  miiid 

Is  like  a  furious  guft  of  wind, 

Which  beats  his  bark  with  many  a  wave 

Till  he  cafts  anchor  in  the  grave, 

It  is  a  flower  which  buds  and  grows, 
And  withers  as  the  leaves  difclofe  ; 
Whofe  fpring  and  fall  faint  feafons  keep, 
Like  fits  of  waking  before  fleep  : 
Then  fhrinks  into  that  fatal  mold, 
Where  its  firft  being  was  enrolPd. 

It 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.         103 

It  is  a  dream,  whofe  feeming  truth 
Is  moralis'd  in  age  and  youth  : 
Where  all  the  comforts  he  can  (hare 
As  wand'ring  as  his  fancies  are  ; 
Till  in  a  mift  of  dark  decay 
The  dreamer  vanifti  quite  away. 

It  is  a  dial  which  points  out 
The  fun-fet  as  it  moves  about: 
And  fhadows  out  in  lines  of  night 
The  fubtile  ftages  of  Times  flight, 
Till  all  obfcuring  earth  hath  laid 
The  body  in  eternal  made. 

It  is  a  weary  interlude 
Which  doth  mart  joys,  long  woes  include. 
The  world  the  ftage,  the  prologue  tears, 
The  adls  vain  hope,  and  varied  fears ; 
The  fcene  {huts  up  with  lofs  of  breath, 
And  leaves  no  epilogue  but  Death. 

SONG    XXI. 
BY    MR.    GEORGE    LILLO.  « 

THE'  fweet  and  bluming  rofe 
Soon  withers  and  decays. 
Short  are  the  joys  life  knows, 

And  few  our  happy  days, 
The  faireft  day  muft  fet  in  night ; 

Summer  in  winter  ends ; 
So  anguifh  flill  fucceeds  delight, 
And  grief  on  joy  attends. 

*  In  Sylvia,  or  ihe  Country  Buriil. 

H4  SONG 


104         MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 
SONG     XXII. 

BY    MR.     ROBERT    DODSLEY. 

MAN's  a  poor  deluded  bubble, 
Wand'ring  in  a  mift  of  lies, 
Seeing  falfe,  or  feeing  double, 

Who  would  truft  to  fuch  weak  eyes  ? 

Yet  prefutning  on  his  fenfes, 

On  he  goes  moft  wondrous  wife  : 
Doubts  of  truth,   believes  pretences  ; 

Loft  in  error,  lives  and  dies. 

SONG     XXIII. 

THE    BLIND     BOY. 

BY     COLLEY    CIBBER     ES  QJ> 

OSay  !  what  is  that  thing  call'd  light, 
Which  I  muft  ne'er  enjoy, 
What  are  the  bleflings  of  the  fight, 
O  tell  your  poor  blind  boy  ! 

You  talk  of  wond'rous  things  you  fee, 

You  fay  the  fun  {nines  bright ; 
I  feel  him  warm,  but  how  can  he 

Or  make  it  day  or  night. 

*  Wiitten  for,   and  fct  by  the  celebrated  mr,  Stanley,  organift  of  St. 
Andrews,  Holborg. 

My 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.         105 

My  day  or  night  myfelf  I  make, 

Whene'er  I  fleep  or  play 
And  could  I  ever  keep  awake 

With  me  'twere  always  day. 

With  heavy  fighs  I  often  hear, 

You  mourn  my  haplefs  woe  ; 
But  fure  with  patience  I  can  bear 

A  lofs  I  ne'er  can  know. 

Then  let  not  what  I  cannot  have 

My  chear  of  mind  deftroy  ; 
Whilft  thus  I  fing,   I  am  a  king, 

Although  a  poor  blind  boy. 


SONG     XXIV. 

WELCOME,  welcome,  brother  debtor, 
To  this  poor  but  merry  place, 
Where  no  bailif,  dun,  nor  fetter, 

Dares  to  mow  his  frightful  face  : 
But,  kind  fir,  as  you're  a  ftranger, 

Down  your  garnifh  you  mutt  lay, 
Or  your  coat  will  be  in  danger ; 
You  muft  either  ftrip  or  pay. 

Ne'er  repine  at  your  confinement 

From  your  children  or  your  wife; 
Wifdom  lies  in  true  refignment 

Through  the  various  fcenes  of  life. 

Score 


io6         MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

Scorn  to  mow  the  leaft  refentment, 
Though  beneath  the  frowns  of  fate  ; 

Knaves  and  beggars  find  contentment, 
Fears  and  cares  attend  the  great. 

Though  our  creditors  are  fpiteful, 

And  reftrain  our  bodies  here, 
Ufe  will  make  a  jail  delightful, 

Since  there's  nothing  elfe  to  fear. 
Every  ifland's  but  a  prifon, 

Strongly  guarded  by  the  fea. 
Kings  and  princes  for  that  reafon, 

Pris'ners  are  as  well  as  we. 

What  was  it  made  great  Alexander 

Weep  at  his  unfriendly  fate  ? 
*Twas  becaufe  he  could  not  wander 

Beyond  this  worlds  ftrong  prifon-gate  : 
For  the  world  is  alfo  bounded 

By  the  heavens  and  ftars  above  ; 
Why  fhould  we  then  be  confounded, 

Since  there's  nothing  free  but  love  ? 


SONG     XXV. « 

HOW  pleafant  a  failors  life  pafles, 
Who  roams  o'er  the  watery  main  j 
No  treafure  he  ever  amafles, 

But  chearfully  fpends  all  his  gain. 

*  In  an  old  EngUfli  opera,  called  Perfcus  and  Andromeda. 

We're 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.          107 

We're  Grangers  to  party  and  fadlion, 

To  honour  and  honefty  true, 
And  would  not  commit,  a  bafe  aftion 

Por  power  or  profit  in  view. 

Then  why  mould  we  quarrel  for  riches, 

Or  any  luch  glittering  toys  ? 
A  light  heart,  and  a  thin  pair  of  breeches, 

Go  thorough  the  world  my  brave  boys. 

The  world  is  a  beautiful  garden 

Enrich'd  with  the  bleffings  of  life, 
The  toiler  with  plent    rewarding, 

Which  plenty  too  often  breeds  ftrife. 
When  terrible  tempefts  afiail  us, 

And  mountainous  billows  affright, 
No  grandeur  or  wealth  can  avail  us, 

But  Ikilful  indufiry  fleers  right. 

Then  why  mould  we  quarrel  for  riches,  &c. 

The  courtier's  more  fubjecl  to  dangers, 

Who  rules  at  the  helm  of  the  ftate, 
Than  we,  who  to  politics  ftrangers, 

Efcape  the  fnares  laid  for  the  great. 
The  various  blcflings  of  nature, 

In  various  nations  we  try, 
No  mortals  than  us  can  be  greater, 
Who  merrily  live  till  we  die. 

Then  why  mould  we  quarrel  for  riches, 

Or  any  fuch  glittering  toys  ? 
.  A  light  heart,  and  a  thin  pair  of  breeches, 
Go  thorough  the  world  my  brave  boys. 

SONG 


ic8        MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 
SONG    XXVI. 

BY    MR.     ROBERT     DODSLEY.  * 

HOW  happy  a  {rate  does  the  miller  poffefs ! 
Who  would  be  no  greater,  nor  fears  to  be  lefs  ; 
On  his  mill  and  himfelf  he  depends  for  fupport, 
Which  is  better  than  fervilely  cringing  at  court. 

What  though  he  all  dufty  and  whiten'd  does  go, 
The  more  he's  bepowder'd,  the  more  like  a  beau  ; 
A  clown  in  this  drefs  may  be  honefter  far 
Than  a  courtier,  who  ftruts  in  his  garter  and  ftar. 

Though  his  hands  are  fo  daub'd  they're  not  fit  to  be  feen, 

The  hands  of  his  betters  are  not  very  clean  ; 

A  palm  more  polite  may  as  dirtily  deal  ; 

Gold,  in  handling,  will  (tick  to  the  fingers  like  meal. 

What  if,  when  a  pudding  for  dinner  he  lacks, 
He  cribs,  without  fcruple,  from  other  mens  facks ; 
In  this  of  right  noble  examples  he  brags, 
Who  borrow  as  freely  from  other  mens  bags. 

Or  ihould  he  endeavour  to  heap  an  eftate, 
In  this  he  would  mimic  the  tools  of  the  ftate  ; 
Whofe  aim  is  alone  their  own  coffers  to  fill, 
As  all  his  concern's  to  bring  grift  to  his  mill. 

He  eats  when  he's  hungry,  he  drinks  when  he's  dry, 
And  down  when  he's  weary  contented  does  lie  ; 
Then  rifes  up  chearful  to  work  and  to  fing  : 
If  fo  happy  a  miller,  then  who'd  be  a  king  ? 

*  In  the  entertainment  of  The  Miller  of  Mansfield. 

SONG 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.         109 
SONG    XXVII. 

BY     MR,     ISAAC     BICK.ERSTAFF.* 

THE  honeft  heart,  whofe  thoughts  are  clear 
From  fraud,  difguife  and  guile, 
Need  neither  Fortunes  frowning  fear, 
Nor  court  the  harlots  fmile. 

The  greatnefs  that  would  make  us  grave 

Is  but  an  empty  thing  ; 
What  more  than  mirth  would  mortals  have  ? 

The  chearful  man's  a  king  I 

SONG    XXVIII. 
THE    OLD    MANS    WISH. 

BY    DR.    POPE. 

IF  I  live  to  grow  old,  for  I  findl  go  down, 
Let  this  be  my  fate:  In  a  country  town, 
May  I  have  a  warm  houfe,  with  a  ftone  at  the  gate, 
And  a  cleanly  young  girl  to  rub  my  bald  pate. 
May  I  govern  my  paffion  with  an  abfolute  fway, 
And  grow  wifer  and  better  as  my  ftrength  wears  away, 
Without  gout  or  ftone,  by  a  gentle  decay. 

Near  a  ftiady  grove,  and  a  murmuring  brook, 
With  the  ocean  at  diftance,  whereon  I  may  look; 
With  a  fpacious  plain,  without  hedge  or  ftile, 
And  an  eafy  pad-nag  to  ride  out  a  mile. 
May  I  govern,   &c. 

*  In  the  comic  opera  of  Love  in  a  Village. 

Wuh 


no        MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

With  Horace,  and  Petrarch,  and  two  or  three  more 
Of  the  beft  wits  that  reign'd  in  the  ages  before  ; 
With  roaft  mutton,  rather  than  ven'fon  or  teal, 
And  clean-,  though  coarfe  linen  at  every  meal. 

May  I  govern,  &c. 


With  a  pudding  on  Sundays,  with  flout  humming  liquor, 
And  remnants  of  Latin  to  welcome  the  vicar; 
With  Monte  Fiafc one  or  Burgundy  wine, 
To  drink  the  kings  health  as  oft  as  I  dine. 

May  I  govern,  &c. 


With  a  courage  undaunted  may  I  face  my  laft  day, 
And  when  I  am  dead  may  the  better  fort  fay, 
In  the  morning  when  fober,  in  the  evening  when  mellow, 
He's  gone,  and  [has]  left  not  behind  him  his  fellow  : 

For  he  govern'd  his  paflion  with  an  abfolute  fway, 
And  grew  wifer  and  better  as  his  flrength  wore  away, 
Without  gout  or  flone,  by  a  gentle  decay.* 


*  The  author  republiflied  this  Song,  in  his  ol<3  age,  with  large  addi- 
tion:, and  a  number  of  whimfical  notes,  and  illuftrations  from  the  Re- 
man, Italian,  and  German  -poets.  None  of  his  fupplemental  ftanzas 
were  thought  properly  adapted  to  the  prefent  publication,  but  all  the 
corrections  and  alterations  he  has  made  in  the  original  verfes  have  been 
carefully  retained;  except  only  as  to  the  laft  chorus,  which  does  net, 
in  his  enlarged  copy,  differ  from  thje  fi: ft. 

SONG 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.          in 

SONG    XXIX. 
TO    WISDOM. 

y 

BY    MISS    CARTER. 

THE  folirary  bird  of  night 
Through  the  thick  fliades  now  wings  his  flight, 
And  quits  his  time-mook  tower  ; 
Where,  fhelter'd  from  the  blaze  of  day, 
In  philofophic  gloom  he  lay, 
Beneath  his  ivy  bower 

With  joy  I  hear  the  foleran  found, 
Which  midnight  ecchoes  waft  around. 

And  fighing  gales  repeat : 
Fav'rite  of  Pallas !  I  attend, 
And,  faithful  to  thy  fummons,  bend 

At  Wifdoms  awful  feat. 

She  loves  the  cool,  the  filent  eve, 
Where  no  falfe  mows  of  life  deceive, 

Beneath  the  lunar  ray  : 
Here  Folly  drops  each  vain  difguife, 
.    Nor  fport  her  gayly-colour'd  dyes, 
As  in  the  gia*e  of  day. 

O  Pallas !   queen  of  ev'ry  art, 

That  glads  the  fenfe,  or  mends  the  heart, 

Bleft  fource  (7f  purer  joys : 
In  every  form  of  beauty  bright, 
That  captivates  the  mental  fight 
With  pleafure  and  furprife. 

To 
5 


uz         MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

To  thy  unfpotted  ftirine  I  bow  j  , 

Attend  thy  modeft  fuppliants  vow, 

That  breathes  no  wild  defires : 
But  taught  by  thy  unerring  rules, 
To  fhun  the  fruitlefs  wifh  of  fools, 

To  nobler  views  afpires. 

Not  Fortunes  gem,  Ambitions  plume, 
Nor  Cythereas  fading  bloom, 

Be  obje&s  of  my  pray'r  : 
Let  Av'rice,  Vanity,  and  Pride, 
Thofe  envied  glittering  toys  divide, 

The  dull  rewards  of  care. 

To  me  thy  better  gifts  impart, 
Each  moral  beauty  of  the  heart, 

By  ftudious  thoughts  refin'd ; 
For  wealth,  the  fmiles  of  glad  content, 
For  power,  its  ampleft,  bed  extent, 

An  empire  o'er  the  mind. 

When  Fortune  drops  her  gay  parade, 
When  Pleafures  tranfient  rofes  fade, 

And  wither  in  the  tomb  j 
Unchang'd  is  thy  immortal  prize* 
Thy  ever-verdant  laurels  rife 

In  undecaying  bloom. 


By 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.         113 

By  thee  prote&ed,  I  defy 

The  coxcombs  fneer,  the  ftupid  lie 

Of  ignorance  and  fpite  : 
Alike  contemn  the  leaden  fool, 
And  all  the  pointed  ridicule 

Of  undifcerning  wit.' 


From  envy,  hurry,  noife,  and  ftrife, 
The  dull  impertinence  of  life, 

In  thy  retreat  I  reft : 
Purfue  thee  to  the  peaceful  groves, 
Where  Platos  facred  fpirit  roves, 

In  all  thy  graces  dreft. 

He  bid  Ilyffus'  tuneful  flream 
Convey  thy  philofophic  theme 

Of  Perfect,  Fair,  and  Good ; 
Attentive  Athens  caught  the  found, 
And  all  her  liftening  fons  around 

In  aweful  filence  Hood. 

Reclaim'd,  her  wild  licentious  youth 
Confefs'd  the  potent  voice  of  Truth, 

And  felt  its  juft  controul : 
The  Paffions  ceas'd  their  loud  alarms, 
And  Virtues  foft  perfwafive  charms 

O'er  all  their  fenfes  ftole. 


VOL.  II. 


ii4         MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

Thy  breath  infpires  the  poets  fong, 
The  patriots  free,  unbiafs'd  tongue, 

The  heros  gen'rous  ftrifej 
Thine  are  retirements  filent  joys-, 
And  all  the  fweet  endearing  ties- 

Of  (till,  domeftic  life. 

No  more  to  fabled  names  confin'd, 
To  Thee!  Supreme,  all-perfed  Mind 

My  thoughts  diredt  their  flight: 
Wifdom's  Thy  gift,  and  all  her  force 
From  Thee  deriv'd,  Unchanging  Source 

Of  intellectual  light. 

O  fend  her  fure,  her  fteady  ray, 
To  regulate  my  doubtful  way, 

Through  lifes  perplexing  road  : 
The  milts  of  error  to  controul, 
And  through  its  gloom  direft  my  foul 

To  happinefs  and  good  J 

Beneath  her  clear  difcerning  eye, 
The  vifionary  fhadows  fly 

Of  Follys  painted  mow : 
She  fees,  through  ev'ry  fair  difguife, 
That  all,  but  Virtues  folid  joys 

Is  vanity  and  woe. 


SONG 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

SONG     XXX. 
ON     FRIENDSHIP. 

FRIENDSHIP,  peculiar  gift  of  Heaven, 
The  noble  minds  delight  and  pride, 
To  men  and  angels  only  given, 
To  all  the  lower  world  denied. 

While  Love,  unknown  among  the  bleft, 

Parent  of  rage  and  hot  defires, 
The  human,  and  the  favage  breaft, 

Inflames  alike  with  equal  fires. 

With  bright,  but  oft  deftru&ive  gleam, 

Alike  o'er  all  his  lightnings  fly; 
Thy  lambent  glories  only  beam 

Around  the  fav'rites  of  the  fky. 

Thy  gentle  flows  of  guiltlefs  joys 
On  fools  and  villains  ne'er  defcend ; 

In  vain  for  thee  the  monarch  fighs, 
And  hugs  a  flatt'rer  for  a  friend. 

When  Virtues  kindred  Virtues  meet, 

And  fifter-fouls  together  join, 
Thy  pleafures,  permanent  as  great, 

Are  all  tranfporting,  all  divine. 

1   2 


Oh! 


fi6        MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

Oh !  fhall  thy  flames  then  ceafe  to  glow, 
When  fouls  to  happier,  climes  remove  ? 

What  rais'd  our  virtue  here  below, 
Shall  aid  our  happinefs  above. 


SONG    XXXI. 

ON     FRIENDSHIP. 

THE  world,  my  dear  Myra,  is  full  of  deceit, 
And  friendfhip's  a  jewel  wefeldom  can  meet; 
How  ftrange  does  it  feem,  that  in  fearching  around, 
This  fource  of  content  is  fo  rare  to  be  found  ? 

O,  friendmip  !  thou  balm,  and  rich  fweet'ner  of  life  ; 
Kind  parent  of  eafe,  and  compofer  of  ftrife; 
Without  thee,  alas  !  what  are  riches  and  pow'r  ? 
But  empty  delufion,  the  joys  of  an  hoar! 

How  much  to  be  priz'd  and  efteem'd  is  a  friend, 
On  whom  we  may  always  with  fafety  depend  ? 
Our  joys,  when  extended,  will  always  increafe, 
And  griefs,  when  divided,  are  hufa'd  into  peace. 

When  fortune  is  fmiling,  what  crouds  will  appear, 
Their  kindnefs  to  offer,  and  friendship  fincere ; 
Yet  change  but  the  profpeft,  and  point  out  diftrefs,     • 
No  longer  to  court  you  they  eagerly  prels. 


SONG 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.        iir 
SONG    XXXII. 

BY     SHAKSPEARE.* 

BLOW,  blow  thou  winter  wind, 
Thou  art  not  fo  unkind 
As  mans  ingratitude: 
Thy  tooth  is  not  fo  keen, 
Becaufe  thoif  art  not  feen, 

Although  thy  breath  be  rude. 
Heigh  ho!   ling,  heigh  ho!  unto  the  green  holly: 
Moft  friendfhip  is  feigning,  moft  loving  mere  folly : 
Then,  heigh  ho,  the  holly  ! 
This  life  is  moft  jolly. 

Freeze,  freeze,  thou  bitter  flcy, 
Thou  doft  not  bite  fo  nigh 

As  benefits  forgot : 
Though  thou  the  waters  warp, 
Thy  fling  is  not  fo  (harp 

As  friend  remember'd  not. 
Heigh  ho !  &c. 

SONG    XXXIII. 

THE       LIE. 
BY    FRANCIS     DAVISON.f 

GO  foul,  the  bodys  gueft, 
Upon  a  thanklefs  arrant, 
Fear  not  to  touch  the  beft, 
t        The  truth  (hall  be  thy  warrant : 
Go,  fince  I  needs  muft  die, 
And  give  the  world  the  lie. 

•  In  A»  you  like  it. 

f  See  vol.  i.  p.  126.  The  Lie  is  generally,  though  erroneoufly,  fuppofed 
to  have  been  written  by  fir  Walter  Raleigh,  the  night  before  fan  exe- 
»ution.  0.M 

1 3  s*y 


if8          MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

Say  to  the  court,  it  glows, 

And  fhines  like  rotten-wood  ; 
Say  to  the  church,  it  fhows 

What's  good,  and  doth  no  good. 
If  church  and  court  reply, 
Then  give  them  both  the  lie. 

Tell  potentates  they  live 

Acting  by  others  a£lion, 
Not  loved  unlefs  they  give, 

Not  ftrong,  but  by  affeftion. 
If  potentates  reply, 
Give  potentates  the  lie. 

Tell  men  of  high  condition, 

That  manage  the  eftate, 
Their  purpofe  is  ambition, 

Their  practice  only  hate  : 
And  if  they  once  reply, 
Then  give  them  all  the  lie, 

Tell  them  that  brave  it  moft, 
They  beg  for  more  by  fpending, 

Who  in  their  greateft  coft, 

Like  nothing  but  commending  : 

And  if  they  make  reply, 

Then  give  them  all  the  lie. 


Tell 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.         119 

Tell  zeal,  it  wants  devotion  ; 

Tell  love,  it  is  but  luft  ; 
Tell  time,  it  '  is'  but  motion; 

Tell  flefti,  it  is  but  duft: 
And  wifh  them  not  reply, 
For  thou  muft  give  the  lie. 


Tell  age,  it  dayly  wafteth  ; 

Tell  honour,  how  it  alters ; 
Tell  Beauty,  how  me  blafteth; 

Tell  favour,  how  it  faulters ; 
And,  as  they  mall  reply, 
Give  every  one  the  lie. 


Tell  wit,  how  much  it  wrangles 
In  tickle  points  of  nicenefs  ; 

Tell  Wifdom,  me  entangles 
Herfelf  in  over -wifenefs : 

And,  when  they  do  reply, 

Straight  give  them  both  the  He, 

Tell  Phyfic  of  her  boldnefs ; 

Tell  {kill,  it  is  <  pretenfion  ;' 
Tell  chanty  of  coldnefs; 

Tell  law,  it  is  contention : 
And,  as  they  do  reply, 
So  give  them  ftill  the  lie. 


Tell 


izo        MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

Tell  Fortune  of  her  blindhefs ; 

Tell  nature  of  decay  ; 
Tell  friendfhip  of  unkindnefs  ; 

Tell  julHce  of  delay  : 
And,  if  they  will  reply, 
Therr'give  them  all  the  lie. 

Tell  arts,  they  have  no  foundnefs, 

But  vary  by  efteeming  ; 
Tell  fchools,  they  want  profoundnefs, 

And  Hand  on  too  much  feeming  : 
If  arts  and  fchools  reply, 
Give  arts  and  fchools  the  lie. 

Tell  faith,  it's  fled  the  city; 

Tell  how  the  country  erreth  ; 
Tell,  manhood  lhakes  'off'  pity; 

Tell,  virtue  leaft  '  preferreth ;' 
And,  if  they  do  reply, 
Spare  not  to  give  the  lie. 

So,  when  thou  haft,  as  I 

Commanded  thee,  done  blabbing, 
Becaufe  to  give  the  lie 

Deferves  no  lefs  than  ftabbing, 
Stab  at  thee  he  that  will, 
No  ftab  «  the'  foul  can  kill. 


SONG 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.        121 

SONG     XXXIV. 
TIMES    ALTERATION. 

WHEN  this  old  cap  was  new, 
'Tis  fince  two  hundred  year, 
No  malice  then  we  knew, 

But  all  things  plenty  were  : 
All  friendfhip  now  decays, 
(Believe  me  this  is  true) 
Which  was  not  in  thofe  days, 
When  this  old  cap  was  new. 

The  nobles  of  our  land 

Were  much  delighted  then, 
To  have  at  their  command 

A  crew  of  1ufty  men, 
Which  by  their  coats  were  known 

Of  tawny,  red,  err  blue, 
With  crefts  on  their  fleeves  mown. 

When  this  old  cap  was  new. 

Now  pride  hath  banifh'd  all, 

Unto  our  lands  reproach,  { 
When  he  whofe  means  is  fmall, 

Maintains  both  horfe  and  coafch: 
Jnftead  of  an  hundred  men, 

The  coach  allows  but  two ; 
This  was  not  thought  on  then, 

When  this  old  cap  was  new. 


Good 


I2Z         MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

Good  hofpitality 

Was  cherifh'd  then  of  many ; 
Now  poor  men  ftarve  and  die, 

And  are  not  help'd  by  any : 
For  charity  waxeth  cold, 

And  love  is  found  in  few  ; 
This  was  not  in  time  of  old, 

When  this  old  cap  was  new. 

Whereever  you  travell'd  then, 

You  might  meet  on  the  way, 
Brave  knights  and  gentlemen, 

Clad  in  their  country  grey, 
That  courteous  would  appear, 

And  kindly  welcome  you  : 
No  puritans  then  were, 

When  this  old  cap  was  new. 

Our  ladies,  in  thofe  days, 

In  civil  habit  went ; 
Broad-cloth  was  then  worth  praife, 

And  gave  the  bell  content : 
French  fafhions  then  were  fcorn'd, 

Fond  fangles  then  none  knew, 
Then  modefty  women  adorn'd, 

When  this  old  cap  was  new. 

A  man  might  then  behold, 

At  Chriflmas,  in  each  hall; 
Good  fires  to  curb  the  cold, 

And  meat  for  great  and  fmall : 

The 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.          123 

The  neighbours  were  friendly  bidden, 

And  all  had  welcome  true, 
The  poor  from  the  gates  were  not  chidden, 

When  this  old  cap  was  new. 

Black  jacks  to  every  man 

Were  fill'd  with  wine  and  beer, 
No  pewter  pot,  nor  can, 

In  thofe  days  did  appear: 
Good  chear  in  a  noblemans  houfe 

Was  counted  a  feemly  mew, 
We  wanted  no  brawn  nor  foufe, 

When  this  old  cap  was  new. 

We  took  not  fuch  delight 

In  cups  of  filver  fine, 
None  under  the  degree  of  a  knight 

In  plate  drunk  beer  or  wine  : 
Now  each  mechanical  man 

Hath  a  cupboard  of  plate  for  a  mew, 
Which  was  a  rare  thing  then, 

When  this  old  cap  was  new. 

Then  bribery  was  unborn, 

No  fimony  men  did  ufe, 
Chriflians  did  ufury  fcorn, 

Devis'd  among  the  Jews : 
The  lawyers  to  be  feed, 

At  that  time  hardly  knew, 
For  man  with  man  agreed, 

When  this  old  cap  was  new. 

No 


1*4       MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

No  captain  then  carous'd, 

Nor  fpent  poor  foldiers  pay, 
They  were  not  fo  abus'd, 

As  they  are  at  this  day ; 
Of  feven  days  they  make  eight, 

To  keep  them  from  their  due  ; 
Poor  foldiers  had  their  right, 

When  this  old  cap  was  new. 

Which  made  them  forward  fb'H 

To  go,  although  not  preft; 
And  going  with  good  will, 

Their  fortunes  were  the  beft. 
Our  Englilh  then,  in  fight, 

Did  foreign  foes  fubdue, 
And  forc'd  them  all  to  flight, 

When  this  old  cap  was  new. 

God  fave  our  gracious  King, 
'  And  fend  him  long  to  live; 
Lord,  mifchief  on  them  bring, 

That  will  not  their  alms  give ; 
But  feek  to  rob  the  poor 

Of  that  which  is  their  due  : 
This  was  not  in  time  of  yore, 

When  this  old  cap  was  new. 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.        125 

SONG     XXXV. 
THE    VICAR    OF    BRAY. 

IN  good  King  Charleses  golden  day* 
When  loyalty  no  harm  meant, 
A  zealous  high- church  man  I  was, 

And  fo  I  got  preferment: 
To  teach  my  flock  I  never  mifs'd, 

Kings  are  by  God  appointed, 
And  damn'd  are  thofe  that  do  refift, 
Or  touch  The  Lords  Anointed. 
And  this  is  law  I  will  maintain 

Until  my  dying  day,  fir, 
That  whatfoever  king  (hall  reign, 
I'll  be  the  vicar  of  Bray,  fir. 

When  Royal  James  obtain'd  the  crowa, 

And  popery  came  in  fafhion, 
The  penal  laws  I  hooted  down, 

And  read  the  Declaration : 
The  church  of  Rome  I  found  would  fit: 

Full  well  my  conftitution  ; 
And  had  become  a  Jefuit, 

But  for  the  Revolution. 
And  this  is  taw,  Sec. 

When  William  was  our  King  declar'd, 

To  eafe  the  nations  grievance  ; 
With  this  new  wind  about  I  fteer'd, 

And  fwore  to  him  allegiance  : 


Oil 


ia6         MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

Old  principles  I  did  revoke, 

Set  confcience  at  a  diftance ; 
Paffive-obedience  was  a  joke, 

A  j eft  was  non-refiftance. 
And  this  is  law,  &c. 

When  gracious  Ann  became  our  queen, 

The  church  of  Englands  glory, 
Another  face  of  things  was  feen, 

And  I  became  a  tory  : 
Occafional  conformifts  bafe, 

I  damn'd  their  moderation  ; 
And  thought  the  church  in  danger  was, 

By  fuch  prevarication. 
And  this  is  law,  &c. 

When  George  in  pudding-time  came  o'er, 

And  moderate  men  look'd  big,  fir, 
I  turn'd  a  cat-in-pan  once  more, 

And  fo  became  a  whig,  fir, 
And  thus  preferment  I  procur'd 

From  our  new  faiths-defender; 
And  almoft  ev'ry  day  abjur'd 

The  Pope  and  the  Pretender. 
And  this  is  law,  &c. 

Th'  illuftrious  houfe  of  Hanover, 

And  Proteftant  fucceffion  ; 
To  thefe  I  do  allegiance  fwear— 

While  they  can  keep  pofTeffion : 

For 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS,         127 

" 

For  in  my  faith  and  loyalty, 

I  never  more  will  faulter, 
And  George  my  lawful  king  {hall  be— 
Until  the  times  do  alter. 

And  this  is  law  I  will  maintain, 

Until  my  dying-day,  fir, 
That  whatfoever  king  fhall  reign, 
I'll  be  the  vicar  of  Bray,  fir. 

SONG     XXXVI. 
THE     STORM. 

BY     MR.     GEORGE     ALEXANDER    STEVENS. 

CEASE,  rude  Boreas,  bluft'ring  railer ! 
Lift  ye  landfmen,  all  to  me  ! 
Meffmates,  hear  a  brother  failor 

Sing  the  dangers  of  the  fea ; 
From  bounding  billows,  firft  in  motion, 

When  the  diftant  whirlwinds  rife, 
To  the  tempeft-troubled  ocean, 
Where  the  feas  contend  with  Ikies! 

Hark  !  the  boatfwain  hoarfely  bawling, 

By  topfail-fheets,  and  haulyards  ftand ; 
Down  top-gallants  quick  be  hawling, 

Down  your  flay-faiis,  hand,  boys,  hand! 
Now  it  frefhens,  fet.the  braces, 

The  topfail-fheets  now  let  go ; 
Luff,  boys,  luff!  don't  make  wry  faces, 

Up  your  topfails  nimbly  clew. 

Now 


128          MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

Now  all  you  on  down-beds  fporting, 

Fondly  lock'd  in  Beautys  arms ; 
Frem  enjoyments  wanton  courting, 

Safe  from  all  but  loves  alarms  ; 
Round  us  roars  the  temped  louder  ; 

Think  what  fears  our  minds  enthrall ; 
Harder  yet,  it  yet  blows  harder, 

Now  again  the  boatfwain  calls  ! 

The  top-fail  yards  point  to  the  wind  boys, 

See  all  clear  to  reef  each  courfe  ; 
Let  the  fore-fheet  go,  don't  mind  boys, 

Though  the  weather  mould  be  worfe. 
Fore  and  aft  the  fprit-fail  yard  get, 

Reef  the  mizen,  fee  all  clear, 
Hands  up,  each  preventure  brace  fet, 

Man  the  fore-yard,  chear,  lads,  chear! 

Now  the  dreadful  thunder  roaring, 

Peal  on  peal  contending  clam, 
On  our  heads  fierce  rain  falls  pouring, 

In  our  eyes  blue  lightnings  flam. 
One  wide  water  all  around  us, 

All  above  us  one  black  fky, 
Different  deaths  at  once  furround  us, 

Hark !  what  means  that  dreadful  cry  ? 

The  foremaft's  gone,  cries  every  tongue  out, 

O'er  the  lee,  twelve  feet  'bove  deck  ; 
A  leak  beneath  the  cheft-tree's  fprung  out, 

Call  all  hands  to  clear  the  wreck. 

Quick 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.         129 

Quick  the  lanyards  cut  to  pieces, 

Come,  my  hearts,  be  flout  and  bold ; 
Plumb  the  well— the  leak  increafes, 

Four  feet  water  in  the  hold. 

While  o*er  the  fhip  wild  waves  are  beating, 

We  for  wives  or  children  mourn  ; 
Alas !  from  hence  there's  no  retreating 

Alas  to  them  there's  no  return. 
Still  the  leak  is  gaining  on  us, 

Both  chain-pumps  are  choak'd  below.— 
Heav'n  have  mercy  here  upon  us ! 

For  only  that  can  fave  us  now. 

O'er  the  lee-beam  is  the  land,  boys, 

Let  the  guns  o'erboard  be  thrown, 
To  the  pump  come  ev'ry  hand,  boys, 

See  !  our  mizen  mad  is  gone. 
The  leak  we've  found  it  cannot  pour  faft, 

We've  lighten'd  her  a  foot  or,  more, 
Up,  and  rig  a  jury  foremaft, 

She  rights,  (he  rights,  boys,  we're  off  fhor*. 

Now  once  more  on  joys  we're  thinking, 

Since  kind  Heav'n  has  fav'd  our  lives ; 
Come,  the  can,  boys !  let's  be  drinking, 

To  our  fweethearts,  and  our  wives. 
Fill  it  up,  about  (hip  wheel  it, 

Clofe  to  our  lips  a  brimmer  join, 
Where's  the  tempeft  now,  who  feels  it  ? 

None—the  danger's  drown'd  in  wine. 

VOL.  II.  K  SONG 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 


SONG     XXXVII. 
NEPTUNES    RAGING    FURY: 

OR,    THE 
GALLANT    SEAMENS    SUFFERINGS.* 

YOU  gentlemen  of  England 
That  live  at  home  at  eafe,   . 
Ah,  little  do  you  think  upon 

The  dangers  of  the  feas ;. 
Give  ear  unto  the  mariners, 

And  they  will  plainly  {how 
[All)  the  cares,  and  the  fears, 
When  the  ftormy  winds  do  blow. 

All  you  that  will  be  feamen, 

Muft.  bear  a  valiant  heart, 
For  when  you  come  upon  the  feas, 

You  muft  not  think  to  ftart ; 
Nor  once  to  be  faint-hearted, 

In  hail,  rain,  [blow]  or  fnow, 
Nor  to  think  for  to  {brink 

When  the  ftormy  winds  do  blow. 

*  "  Being  a  relation  of  their  peril*  and  dangers,  and  of  the  extraordi- 
nary hazards  they  undergo  in  their  noble  adventures.  Together  with 
their  undaunted  valour,  and  rare  conftancy  in  all  their  extremities  t  and 
the  nwnncr  of  their  rejoycing  on  flxore,  at  their  return  home,".  'Title. 


The 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.        131 

The  bitter  ftorms  and  tempefts 

Poor  feamen  do  endure, 
Both  day  and  night,  with  many  a  fright, 

We  feldom  reft  fecure. 
Our  fleep  it  is  difturbed 

With  vifions  ftrange  to  know, 
And  with  dreams,  on  the  ftreams, 

When  the  ftormy  winds  do  blow. 


In  claps  of  roaring  thunder, 

Which  darknefs  doth  enforce, 
We  often  find  our  «  Ihip '  to  ftray 

Beyond  our  wanted  courfe  ; 
Which  caufeth  great  diftradions, 

And  finks  our  hearts  full  low, 
'Tis  in  vain  to  complain, 

When  the  ftormy  winds  do  blow. 

Sometimes  in  Neptunes  bofom 

Our  Ihip  is  toft  in  waves, 
And  every  man  expecting 

The  fea  to  be  their  graves; 
Then  up  aloft  fhe  mounteth, 

And  down  again  fo  low ; 
'Tis  with  waves,  o  with  waves, 

When  the  ftormy  winds  do  blow. 


K  a 


,3»         MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

Then  down  again  we  fall  to  prayer, 

With  all  our  might  and  thought, 
When  refuge  all  doth  fail  us, 

"Tis  that  muft  bear  us  out ; 
To  God  we  call  for  fuccour, 

For  he  it  is  we  know, 
That  muft  aid  us,  and  fave  us, 

When  the  ftormy  winds  do  blow. 

The  lawyer  and  the  ufurer, 

That  fits  in  gowns  of  fur, 
In  clofets  warm  can  take  no  harm, 

Abroad  they  need  not  ftir ; 
When  winter  fierce  with  cold  doth  pierce, 

And  beats  with  hail  and  fnow, 
We  are  fure  to  endure, 

When  the  ftormy  winds  do  blow. 

We  bring  home  coftly  merchandife, 

And  jewels  of  great  price, 
To  ferve  our  Englim  gallantry, 

With  many  a  rare  device  ; 
To  pleafe  the  Englifh  gallantry, 

Our  pains  we  freely  ihow, 
For  we  toil,  and  [we]  moil, 

When  the  ftormy  winds  do /blow. 


We 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.         133 

We  fometimes  fail  to  the  Indies 

To  fetch  home  fpices  rare, 
Sometimes  again  to  France  and  Spain, 

For  wines  beyond  compare ; 
Whilft  gallants  are  caroufing, 

In  taverns  on  a  row, 
Then  we  fweep  o'er  the  deep, 

When  the  ftormy  winds  do  blow. 


When  tempefts  are  blown  over, 

And  greateft  fears  are  paft, 
*  In '  weather  fair,  and  temperate  air, 

We  ftraight  lie  down  to  reft ; 
But  when  the  billows  tumble, 

And  waves  do  furious  grow, 
Then  we  roufe,  up  we  roufe 

When  the  ftormy  winds  do  blow. 

If  enemies  oppofe  us, 

When  England  is  at  wars, 
With  any  foreign  nations, 

We  fear  not  wounds  nor  fears ; 
Our  roaring  guns  fhall  teach  'em 

Our  valour  for  to  know, 
Whilft  they  reel  in  the  keel, 

When  the  ftormy  winds  do  blow. 


We 


134        MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS, 

We  are  no  cowardly  ihririkers, 

But  true  Englifhmen  bred, 
We'll  play  our  parts  like  valiant  hearts, 

And  never  fly  for  dread ; 
We'll  ply  our  bufmefs  nimbly, 

Wheree'er  we  come  or  go, 
With  our  mates  to  the  Streights, 

When  the  ftormy  winds  do  blow. 

Then  courage,  all  brave  mariners, 

And  never  be  difrnay'd, 
Whilft  we  have  bold  '  adventurers' 

We  nevef  fhall  want  a  trade  j 
Our  merchants  will  employ  us, 

To  fetch  them  wealth,  I  know  ; 
Then  be  bold,  work  for  gold, 

When  the  ftormy  winds  do  blow. 

When  we  return  in  fafety, 

With  wages  for  our  paias, 
The  tapfter  and  the  vintner 

Will  help  to  (hare  our  gains^ 
We'll  call  for  liquor  roundly, 

And  pay  before  we  go ; 
Then  we'll  roar  on  the  fhore, 

When  the  flormy  winds  do  blow.  O, 


SONG 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.        135 
SONG    XXXVIII. 

BY    DR.    GOLDSMITH.* 

THE  wretch  condemn'd  with  life  to  part, 
Still,  flill  on  hope  relies ; 
And  every  pang  that  rends  the  heart, 
Bids  expectation  rife. 

Hope,  like  the  glimmering  tapers  light, 

Adorns  and  chears  the  way  ; 
And  Hill,  as  darker  grows  the  night, 

Emits  a  brighter  ray. 

SONG     XXXIX. 

BY       THE       SAME. 

O  Memory  !  thou  fond  deceiver, 
Still  importunate  and  vain, 
To  former  joys  recurring  ever, 
And  turning  all  the  paft  to  pain. 

Thou,  like  the  world,  th'  oppreft  oppreffing, 
Thy  fmiles  increafe  the  wretches  woe ! 

And  he  who  wants  each  other  blefling, 
In  thee  mull  ever  find  a  foe. 


In  the  oratorio  of  the  Captivity. 

X  4  SONG 


136         MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 
SONG     XL.» 

GENTLY  fiir  and  blow  the  fire, 
Lay  the  mutton  down  to  rOaft, 
Drefs  it  quickly,  I  defire, 

In  the  dripping  put  a  toaft, 
That  I  hunger  may  remove  ; 
Mutton  is  the  meat  I  love. 

On  the  drefler  fee  it  He, 

Oh !  the  charming  white  and  red  ! 
Finer  meat  ne'er  met  my  eye, 

On  the  fweeteft  grafs  it  fed  : 
Let  the  jack  go  fwiftly  round, 
Let  me  have  it  nicely  brown'd. 

On  the  table  fpread  the  cloth, 

Let  the  knives  be  fharp  and  clean: 

Pickles  get  and  f.illad  both, 

Let  them  each  be  frefh  and  green  ; 

With  fmall  beer,  good  ale,  and  wine, 

Oh  !  ye  gods  I  how  I  fhall  dine. 


*  A  fort  of  parody  on  fome  vcrfes  by  A.  Bradley,  beginning  thus: 
Gently  (hike  the  warbling  lyre, 
Chloe  feeing  inclin'd  to  reft,  &c. 

c  SONG 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.          137 

SONG     XLI. 
THE    POWER    OF    MUSIC, 

IMITAT1D    T«OM    THE    IfANIIH. 

BY     DR.     LISLE. 

WHEN  Orpheus  went  down  to  the  regions  below, 
Which  men  are  forbidden  to  fee, 
He  tun'd  up  his  lyre,  as  old  hiftories  {how, 
To  fet  his  Euridice  free. 

All  hell  was  aftonifh'd  a  perfon  fo  wife 

Should  rafhly  endanger  his  life, 
And  venture  fo  far— but  how  vaft  their  furprife  ! 

When  they  heard  that  he  came  for  his  wife. 

To  find  out  a  punifhment  due  to  his  fault. 

Old  Pluto  long  puzzled  his  brain, 
But  hell  had  not  torments  fufficient  he  thought, 

—So  he  gave  him  his  wife  back  again. 

But  pity  fucceeding  found  place  in  his  heart, 

And  pleas'd  with  his  playing  fo  well, 
He  took  her  again  in  reward  of  his  art ; 

Such  merit  had  mufic  in  hell ! 

SONG     XLII. 
THE     GOSSIPS. 

TWO  goflips  they  merrily  met, 
At  nine  in  the  morning  full  foon  ; 
And  they  were  refolv'd  for  a  whet, 
To  keep  their  fwe«t  voices  in  tune. 

Away 


138        MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS, 

Away  to  the  tavern  they  went ; 

'  Here  Joan  I  vow  and  proteft, 
'  That  I  have  a  crown  yet  unfpent, 

«  Come  let's  have  a  cup  of  the  beft.* 

*  And  I  have  another,  perhaps 

*  A  piece  of  the  very  fame  fort, 

'  Why  fhould  we  fit  thrumming  of  caps, 

*  Come,  drawer,  and  fill  us  a  quart ! 
'  And  let  it  be  liquor  of  life, 

'  Canary,  or  iparkling  wine ! 
'  For  I  am  a  buxom  young  wife, 
'  And  I  love  to  go  gallant  and  fine/ 

The  drawer,  as  blithe  as  a  bird, 

Came  Skipping  with  cap  in  his  hand, 

*  Dear  ladies,  I  give  you  my  word, 

«  The  beft  fhall  be  at  your  command.* 
A  quart  of  canary  he  drew, 

Joan  fill'd  up  a  glafs  and  begun, 
4  Here  goffip's  a  bumper  to  you  ;' 

*  I'll  pledge  you,  girl,  were  it  a  tun.* 

€  And,  pray  goflip,  did'nt  you  hear 

*  The  common  report  of  the  town, 

•  A  fquire  of  five  hundred  a  year 

«  Is  married  to  Doll  of  the  Crown  : 

•  A  draggle-tail'd  flut,  on  my  word, 

'  Her  clothes  hanging  ragged  and  foul  ; 
«  In  troth  he  would  fain  have  a  bird, 

*  That  would  give  a  groat  for  an  owl. 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.        139 

*  And  (he  had  a  fitter  laft  year, 

«  Whofe  name  they  call'd  Galloping  Peg, 
«  She'd  take  up  a  ftraw  with  her  ear, 

*  I  warrant  her  right  as  my  leg ! 

*  A  brewer  he  got  her  with  child, 

'  But  e'en  let  them  brew  as  they  bake; 

*  I  knew  me  was  wanton  and  wild, 

*  But  I'll  neither  meddle  nor  make.* 

'  Nor  I,  goflip  Joan,  by  my  troth, 

«  Though  neverthelefs  I  have  been  told, 
«  She  ftole  feven  yards  of  broad  cloth, 

*  A  ring  and  a  locket  of  gold  ; 

'  A  fmock  and  a  »ew  pair  of  ihoes ; 

*  A  flourifliing  madam  was  me  :— 
«  But  Margery  told  me  the  news, 

«  And  it  ne'er  fhall  go  further  for  me. 

«  We  were  at  a  goffiping  club, 

'  Where  we  had  a  chirruping  cup, 
«  Of  good  humming  liquor,  ftrong  bub! 

1  Your  hufbands  name  there  it  was  up, 
«  For  bearing  a  powerful  fway, 

«  All  neighbours  his  valour  have  feen  ; 
«  For  he  is  a  cuckold  they  fay,— 

«  A  conftable,  goflip,  I  mean. 

«  Dear  goflip,  a  flip  of  the  tongue, 

«  No  harm  was  intended  in  mind : 
«  Chance  words  they  will  mingle  among 

«  Oar  others  we  commonly  find. 

«  I  hope 


140       MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

'  I  hope  you  won't  take  it  amifs.'- 
'  No,  no,  that  were  folly  in  us  j 

'  And  if  we  perhaps  get  a  kifs, 

'  Pray  what  are  our  hufbands  the  worfe  ?* 


SONG    XLIII. 

OF  AN  OLD  COURTIER  AND  A  NEW. 

WITH  an  old  fong  made  by  an  old  ancient  pate, 
Of  an  old  worfhipful  gentleman,  who  had  a  great 

eilate, 

Who  kept  an  old  houfe  at  a  bountiful  rate, 
And  an  old  porter  to  relieve  the  poor  at  his  gate ; 
Like  an  old  courtier  of  the  queens, 
[And  the  queens  old  courtier.] 

With  an  old  lady,  whofe  anger  one  good  word  afTwages, 
Who  every  quarter  pays  her  old  fervants  their  wages, 
Who  never  knew  what  belongs  to  coachmen,  footmen,  and 

pages, 
But  kept  twenty  thrifty  old  fellows  with  blue  coats  and 

badges ; 
Like  an  old  courtier,  &c. 

With  an  old  ftudy  fill'd  full  of  learned  old  books, 

With  an  old  reverend  parfon,  you  may  judge  him  by  his 

looks, 

With  an  old  buttery  hatch  worn  quite  off  the  old  hooks, 
And  an  old  kitchen,  which  maintains  half  a  dozen  old 

cooks ; 
Like  an  old,  &c. 

With 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.        1*1 

With  an  old  hall,  hung  about  with  guns,  pikes,  and  bows, 
With  old  fvvords,  and   bucklers,  which  hath  born  many 

fhrewd  blows, 

And  an  old  frifado  coat,  to  cover  his  worfiiips  trunk  hofe. 
And  a  cup  of  old  merry,  to  comfort  his  copper  nof« ; 
Like  an  old,  &c. 


With  art  old  fawion,  when  Chriftmas  is  come, 

To  call  in  his  neighbours  with  bagpipe,  and  drum, 

And  good  chear  enough  to  furniih  ev.ery  old  room, 

And  old  liquor  able  to  make  a  cat  fpeak,  and  a  wife  man 

dumb; 
Like  an  old,  Sec. 

With  an  old  huntfman,  a  falconer,  and  a  kennel  of  hounds, 
Which  never  hunted,  nor  hawked,  but  in  his  own  ground?, 
Who,  like  an  old  wife  man,  kept  himfelf  within  his  own 

bounds, 
And  when  he  died  gave  every  child  a  thoufand  old  pounds; 

Like  an  old,  ,&c. 

But  to  his  eldeft  fon  his  houfe  and  land  he  aflign'd, 
Charging  him  in  his  will  to  keep  the  fame  bountiful  mind, 
To  be  good  to  his  fervants,  and  to  his  neighbours  kind 
But  in  the  enfuing  ditty  you  ftiall  hear  how  he  was  inelm  d ; 

Like  a  young  courtier  of  the  kings, 

[And  the  kings  young  courtier.] 


Like- 


14*         MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

LIKE  a  young  gallant,  newly  come  to  his  land, 
Who  keeps  a  brace  of  creatures  at  his  own  command, 
And  takes  up  a  thoufand  pounds  upon  his  own  band, 
And  lieth  drunk  in  a  new  tavern,  till  he  can  neither  go 

nor  iland; 
Like  a  young,  &c. 

With  a  neat  lady,  that  is  frefli  and  fair, 

Who  never  knew  what  belong'd  to  good  houfekeeping, 

nor  care, 

But  buys  feveral  fans  to  play  with  the  wanton  air, 
And  feventeen  or  eighteen  dreffings  of  other  womens  hair; 
Like  a  young,  £c. 

With  a  new  hall,  built  where  the  old  one  flood, 
Wherein  is  burned  neither  coal  nor  wood, 
And  a  new  (hovel-board  table  whereon  never  meat  flood  ; 
Hung  round  with  pictures  which  doth  the  poor  little  good. 
Like  a  young,  &c. 

With  a  new  fludy,  ftuff'd  full  of  pamphlets,  and  plays, 
With  a  new  chaplain,  that  fwears  fafter  than  he  prays, 
With  a  new  buttery  hatch,  that  opens  once  in  four  or  five 

days, 

With  a  hew  French  cook,  to  devife  kickfhaws  and  toys ; 
For  the  young,  &c. 

With  a  new  fafhion,  when  Chriflmas  is  come  on, 
With  a  journey  up  to  London  we  muft  be  gone, 
And  leave  nobody  at  home  but  our  new  porter  John, 
Who  relieves  the  poor  with  a  thump  on  the  back  with  a 

ftone; 
Like  a  young,  &c, 

With 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.         143 

With  a  gentleman-ufher,  whofe  carriage  is  complete, 
With  a  footman,  a  coachman,  a  page  to  carry  the  meat, 
With  a  waiting-gentlewoman,  whofe  dreffing  is  very  neat, 
Who,  when  the  mafter  hath  din'd,  gives  the  fervants  little 

meat. 
Like  a  young,  &e. 

With  a  new  honour,  bought  with  his  fathers  old  gold, 
That  many  of  his  fathers  old  manors  hath  fold; 
And  this  is  the  occafion  that  moft  men  do  hold 
That  good  houfekeeping  is  now  a-days  grown  fo  cold. 

Like  a  young  courtier  of  the  kings, 

£And  the  kings  young  courtier.]  O. 

SONG    XLIV. 
BY    SHAKSPEARE.* 

WHEN  daffodils  begin  to  peer,— 
With,  hey  !  the  doxy  over  the  dale  !-* 
Why,  then  comes  in  the  fweet  o'  the  year ; 
For  the  red  blood  reigns  in  the  winters  pale, 

The  white  Iheet  bleaching  on  the  hedge, — 

With,  hey  !  the  fweet  birds,  o,  how  they  fing  !— 

Doth  fet  my  pugging  tooth  on  edge  ; 
For  a  quart  of  ale  is  a  difli  for  a  king  ! 

The  lark,  that  tirra-lirra  chaunts, — 

With,  hey!  with,  hey!  the  thrufti  and  the  jay,— - 
Are  fummer  fongs  for  me  and  my  aunts, 

As  we  lie  tumbling  in  the  hay. 

*  Sung  by  Autotycus,  in  the  Winter!  Tale. 

SONG 


144        MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

SONG    XLV. 
SPRING. 

BY      THE      SAME.* 

WHEN  dayfies  pied,  and  violets  blue, 
And  lady-fmocks  all  filver-white, 
And  cuckow  buds  of  yellow  hue, 

Do  paint  the  meadows  with  delight, 
The  cuckow,  then,  on  every  tree, 
Mocks  married  men.  for  thus  fings  he, 
Cuckow,  cuckow; — o  word  of  fear  ! 
Unpleaung  to  a  married  ear. 

When  Ihepherds  pipe  on  oaten  ftrawj, 

And  marry  larks  are  ploughmens  clocks, 
When  turtles  tread,  and  rooks  and  daws, 

And  maidens  bleach  their  fummer  fmock«, 
The  cuckow  then,  on  every  tree, 
Mocks  married  men,  for  thus  iings  he, 
Cuckow,  cuckow  ;— o  word  of  fear ! 
Unpleafing  to  a  married  ear. 

SONG     XLVI. 
WINTER. 

BY      THE      SAME.* 

WHEN  icicles  hang  by  the  wall, 
And  Dick  the  fhepherd  blows  his  nail, 
And  Tom  bears  logs  into  the  hall, 
And  milk  comes  frozen  home  in  pail, 

*  In  Loves  Labour  loft. 

When 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.          145 

When  blood  is  nipp'd,  and  ways  be  foul, 
Then  nightly  fings  the  flaring  owl, 

Tu-whit,  to  whoo  ;  -  a  merry  note ! 

While  greafy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot. 


When  all  aloud  the  wind  doth  blow, 

And  coughing  drowns  the  parfons  faw, 
And  birds  fit  brooding  in  the  fnow, 

And  Marians  nofe  looks  red  and  raw, 
When  roafted  crabs  hifs  in  the  bowl, 
Then  nightly  fings  the  flaring  owl, 

Tu-whit,  to -whoo ;  — a  merry  note ! 
While  greafy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot. 


SONG    XLVII. 
BY      THE      SAME.* 

UNDER  the  green  wood  tree. 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me, 
And  tune  his  merry  note 
Unto  the  fweet  birds  throat, 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither; 
Here  mall  he  fee 
No  enemy, 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

*  la  As  you  like  it, 

VOL,  II,  L 


,46         MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS, 

Who  doth  ambition  fliun, 

And  loves  to  live  i'  the  fun, 

Seeking  the  food  he  eats, 

And  pleas'd  with  what  he  gets, 

Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither ; 

Here  (hall  he  fee 

No  enemy/ 
But  winter  and  rough  weather, 


5  O  N  G    XLVIIL 
TOM    OF    BEDLAM. 


FORTH  from  my  dark  and  difmal  cell, 
Or  fronj  the  deep  abyfs  of  hell, 
Mad  Tom  is  come  to  view  the  world  again, 
To  fee  if  he  can  cure  his  diftemper'd  brain. 

Fears  and  cares  opprefs  my  foul ; 
Hark!  how  the  angry  furies  howl ! 
Pluto  laughs,  and  Proferpine  is  glad, 
To  fee  poor  naked  Tom  of  Bedlam  mad. 

Through  the  world  I  wander  night  and  day, 

To  find  my  ftraggfing-  fenfes : 
In  an  angry  mood  I  found  Old  Time, 

With  his  pentateuch  of  tenfes. 


When 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.        147 

When  me  he  fpies, 

Away  he  flies, 
For  time  will  ftay  for  no  man  : 

In  vain  with  cries, 

I  rend  the  flues, 
For  pity  is  not  common. 

Cold  and  comfortlefs  I  He  : 
Help,  o  help,  or  elfe  I  die  !  ' 

Hark  !  I  hear  Apollos  team, 

The  carman  'gins  to  whittle  ; 
Chafte  Diana  bends  her  bow, 

And  the  boar  begins  to  brittle. 

Come,  Vulcan,  with  tools  and  with  tackles, 
To  knock  off  my  troublefome  (hackles ; 
Bid  Charles  make  ready  his  wain 
To  bring  me  my  fenfes  again. 

Laft  night  I  heard  the  dog-ftar  bark  ; 
Mars  met  Venus  in  the  dark  ; 
Limping  Vulcan  het  an  iron  bar, 
And  furiously  ran  at  the  god  of  war: 

Mars  with  his  weapon  laid  about, 
Limping  Vulcan  had  got  the  gout ; 
His  broad  horns  did  fo  hang  in  his  fight, 
He  could  not  fee  to  aim  his  blows  aright : 


Mercury 


i48        MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

Mercury,  the  nimble  port  of  heaven, 

Stood  ftill  to  fee  the  quarrel ; 
Gorrel-bellied  Bacchus,  giant-like, 

Beftrid  a  ftrong-beer  barrel : 

To  me  he  drank, 

I  did  him  thank, 
But  I  could  get  no  cyder ; 

He  drank  whole  buts, 

Till  he  burft  his  guts, 
But  mine  were  ne'er  the  wider, 

Poor  Tom  is  very  dry ; 
A  little  drink  for  charity  ! 

Hark  !  I  hear  Acleons  hounds ; 

The  huntsmen  whoop  and  hollow  ; 
Ringwood,  Rcckwood,  Jowler,  Bowman, 

All  the  chace  doth  follow. 

The  man  in  the  moon  drinks  claret 

Eats  powder*d  beef,  turnip,  and  carrot  j 

But  a  cup  of  old  Malaga  fack 

Will  fire  the  bulh  at  his  back,  O. 


SONG 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.        149 


SONG     XLIX. 

C     O    R     Y    D     O    N: 
A    PASTORAL. 


BY     MR.     JOHN    CUNNINGHAM. 

COME,  fhepherds,  we'll  follow  the  hearfe, 
We'll  fee  our  lov'd  Corydon  laid  : 
Though  forrow  may  blemifh  the  verfe, 

Yet  let  a  fad  tribute  be  paid. 
They  call'd  him  the  pride  of  the  plain  ; 

In  footh  he  was  gentle  and  kind  ! 
He  mark'd  on  his  elegant  drain 
The  graces  that  glow'd  in  his  mind. 

On  purpofe  he  planted  yon  trees, 

That  birds  in  the  covert  might  dwell; 

He  cultur'd  his  thyme  for  the  bees, 
But  never  would  rifle  their  cell. 

Ye  lambkins  that  play'd  at  his  feet, 
Go  bleat  —  and  your  mafter  bemoan; 

His  mufic  was  artlefs  and  fweet, 
.His  manners  as  mild  as  your  own. 

No  verdure  mall  cover  the  vale, 
No  bloom  on  the  bloflbms  appear; 

The  fweets  of  the  foreft  (hall  fail, 
And  winter  difcolour  the  year, 


I5o         MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

No  birds  in  our  hedges  ftiall  fing, 

(Our  hedges  fo  vocal  before) 
Since  he  that  ftiould  welcome  the  fpring, 

Salutes  the  gay  feafon  no  more. 

His  Phillis  was  fond  of  his  praife, 

And  poets  came  round  in  a  throng ; 
They  liften'd— they  envied,  his  lays, 

But  which  of  them  equal'd  his  fong. 
Ye  (hepherds,  henceforward  be  mute, 

For  loft  is  che  paftoral  ftrain  ; 
So  give  me  my  Corydons  flute, 

And  thus— let  me  break  it  in  twain. 


SONG    L. 
A      DIRGE. 

BY      MR.      D  '  U  R  F  E  Y.  * 

SLEEP,  fleep  poor  youth,  fleep,  deep  in  peace, 
Reliev'd  from  love,  and  mortal  care, 
Whilft  we  that  pine  in  lifes  difeafe, 
Uncertain  bleft  lefs  happy  are. 

Couch'd  in  the  dark  and  filent  grave, 

No  ills  of  fate  thou  now  can  ft  fear, 
In  vain  would  tyrant  power  enflave, 

Or  fcornful  beauty  be  fevere. 

*  "  Sung  in  the   firft  pait  of  Den   Quixote   by  a   fliepherd    and 
flitpherdcfj.     Set  by  mr,  Ealci." 

Wars 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.         151 

Wars  that  do  fatal  ftorms  difperfe, 

Far  from  thy  happy  manfion  keep, 
Earthquakes  that  fhake  the  univerfe, 

Can't  rock  thee  into  founder  fleep. 

With  all  the  charms  of  peace  pofleft, 

Secure  from  lifes  tormentor,  pain, 
Sleep,  and  indulge  thyfelf  with  reft, 

Nor  dream  thou  e'er  {halt  rife  again. 

CHORUS. 

Pad  is  the  fear  of  future  doubt, 

The  fun  is  from  the  dial  gone, 
The  fands  are  funk,  the  glafs  is  out, 

The  folly  of  the  farce  is  done. 


SONG     LL 

* 

BY      MR.     COLLINS.* 

HOW  fleep  the  brave  who  fink  to  reft, 
By  all  their  -countrys  wilhes  bleft  ? 
When  fpring,  with  dewy  fingers  cold, 
Returns  to  deck  the  hallow'd  mold, 
She  then  fhall  drefs  a  fweeter  fod 
Than  Fancys  feet  have  .ever  trod. 

•  Written  in  I746« 

* 


iS«-       MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

By  Fairy  hands  their  knell  is  rung, 
By  forms  unfeen  their  dirge  is  fung  ; 
There  Honour  comes  a  pilgrim  grey, 
To  blefs  the  turf  that  wraps  their  clay  ; 
And  Freedom  lhall  a  while  repair 
To  dwell  a  weeping  hermit  there. 


SONG     LII. 
DIRGE 

IN      CYMBELINE. 

SUNG    BY    GUIDERUS    AND    ARVIRAGUS    OVER    FIDELE, 
SUPPOSED    TO    BE    DEAD. 

BY     THE     SAME. 

TO  fair  Fideles  grafly  tomb 
Soft  maids,  an'd  village  hinds  (hall  bring 
Each  opening  fweet  of  earlieft  bloom, 
And  rifle  all  the  breathing  fpring. 

No  wailing  ghoft  fhall  dare  appear 

To  vex  with  (hrieks  this  quiet  grove, 
But  fhepherd  lads  aflemble  here, 

And  melting  virgins  own  their  love. 

No  wither'd  witch  (hall  here  be  feen, 

No  goblins  lead  their  nightly  crew  ; 
The  female  Fays  lhall  haunt  the  green, 

And  drefs  thy  grave  with  pearly  dew ! 

The 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

The  red-breaft  oft  at  evening  hours 

Shall  kindly  lend  his  little  aid, 
With  hoary  mofs,  and  gather'd  flowers, 

To  deck  the  ground  where  thou  art  laid. 

When  howling  winds,  and  beating  rain, 

In  tempefts  {hake  the  fylvan  cell; 
Or  'midft  the  chace  on  every  plain, 

The  tender  thought  on  thee  {hall  dwell. 

-  Each  lonely  fcene  {hall  thee  reftore, 

For  thee  the  tear  be  duly  ftied ; 
Belov'd,  till  life  can  charm  no  more; 
And  mourn'd,  till  Pitys  felf  be  dead. 


SONG    LIH. 
BY     MR.     GARRICK.  • 

THOU  foft  flowing  Avon,  by  thy  filver  ftream, 
Of  things  more  than  mortal,  fweet  Shakfpeare  would 

dream, 

The  Fairies  by  moon-light  dance  round  his  green  bed, 
For  hallow'd  the  turf  is  which  pillow'd  his  head. 

The  love-flricken  maiden,  the  foft-fighing  fwain, 
Here  rove  without  danger,  and  figh  without  pain. 
The  fweet  bud  of  beauty  no  blight  mail  here  dread, 
For  hallow'd  the  turf  is  which  pillow'd.  his  head. 

•  In  hi»   Ode  upon  dedicating  a  building,  and  etching  a  flatue,  to 
Shakfpeare,  at  Stratford  upon  Avon, 

Here 


Here  youth  lhall  be  fam'd  for  their  love,  and  their  truth, 
And  chearful  old  age  feel  the  fpirit  of  youth ; 
For  the  raptures  of  fancy  here  poets  (hall  tread, 
For  hallow'd  the  turf  is  that  pillow'd  his  head. 

Flow  on,  filver  Avon,  in  fong  ever  flow, 
Be  the  fwans  on  thy  borders  Itill  whiter  than  fnow ! 
Ever  full  be  thy  ftream,  like  his  fame  may  it  fpreadt 
And  the  turf  ever  hallow'd  which  pillow'd  his  headt 

SONG     LIV. 
PRAYER    FOR    INDIFFERENCE. 

BY     MRS.    GREVILLE. 

OFT  I've  implor'd  the  gods  in  vain, 
And  pray'd  till  I've  been  weary  : 
For  once  I'll  feek  my  wifli  to  gain 
Of  Oberon  the  Fairy. 

Sweet  airy  being,  wanton  fprite, 

Who  liv'ft  in  woods  unfeen  ; 
And  oft  by  Cynthias  filver  light 

Tripp'ft  gayly  o'er  the  green. 

If  e'er  thy  pitying  heart  was  mov'd 

As  ancient  {lories  tell ; 
And  for  *  th'  Athenian  maid  who  lov'd, 

Thou  fought'ft  a  wond'rous  fpell. 

'  Sci  Midfummer-nighti  Dream. 

O !  deign. 


"MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.         155 

O  !  deign  once  more  t'  exert  thy  power ! 

Haply  fome  herb  or  tree, 
Sovereign  as  juice  from  weftern  flower,* 

Conceals  a  balm  for  me. 


I  afk  no  kind  return  in  love, 

No  tempting  charm  to  pleafe  j 
Far  from  the  heart  fuch  gifts  remove, 

That  fighs  for  peace  and  eafe  ! 

Nor  eafe,  nor  peace,  that  heart  can  know, 

That  like  the  needle  true, 
Turns  at  the  touch  of  joy  or  woe, 

But,  turning,  trembles  too. 

Far  as  diftrefs  the  foul  can  wound, 
'Tis  pain  in  each  degree: 

'Tis  blifs  but  to  a  certain  bound- 
Beyond— is  agony. 

Then  take  this  treacherous  fenfe  of  mine, 

Which  dooms  me  ftill  to  fmart ; 
Which  pleafure  can  to  pain  refine; 

To  pain  new  pangs  impart. 

0 1  hafte  to  fhed  the  fovereign  balm, 

My  fhatter'd  nerves  new  firing: 
And  for  my  gueft,  ferenely  calm, 

The  nymph  Indifference  bring ! 

•  See  Midfunnmer.nights  Dream. 

At 


156       MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS, 

At  her  approach,  fee  Hope,  fee  Fear, 

See  Expectation  fly  1 
And  Difappointment  in  the  rear, 

That  blafts  the  purpos'd  joy. 


The  tears,  which  Pity  taught  to  flow, 

My  eyes  lhall  then  difown ; 
The  heart,  that  throbb'd  at  others  woe, 

Shall  then  fear ce  feel  its  own-. 

The  wounds,  which  now  each  moment  bleed, 

Each  moment  then  (hall  clofe  ; 
And  tranquil  days  (hall  ftill  fucceed 

To  nights  of  fweet  repofe, 

O  Fairy-elf!  but  grant  me  this, 

This  one  kind  comfort  fend  ! 
And  fo  may  never-fading  blifs 

Thy  flowery  paths  attend ! 

So  may  the  glow-worms  glimmering  light, 

Thy  tiny  footfleps  lead 
To  fome  new  region  of  delight, 

Unknown  to  mortal  tread  ! 

And  be  thy  acorn  goblet  filPd 

With  heavens  ambrofial  dew, 
From  fweeteft,  frelheft  flowers  diftili'd, 

That  fhed  frem  fweets  for  you. 


And 


MISCELLANEOUS  SONGS.      i57 

And  what  of  life  remains  for  me, 

I'll  pafs  in  fober  eafe ; 
Half-pleas'd,  contented  will  I  be, 

Content— but  half  to  pleafe. 


THE      FAIRIES, 

COME  follow,  follow  me, 
Ye  Fairy  elves  that  be, 
Light  tripping  oe'r  the  green ; 
Come  follow  Mab  your  queen  : 
Hand  in  hand  we'll  dance  around, 
For  this  place  is  Fairy  ground. 

I 

When  mortals  are  at  reft, 
And  fnoring  in  their  neft  ; 
Unheard  and  unefpied, 
Through  key-holes  we  do  glide  ; 
Over  tables,  ftools,  and  fhelves, 
We  trip  it  with  our  Fairy  elves. 

And  if  the  houfe  be  foul, 
With  platter,  dim,  or  bowl, 
Up  flairs  we  nimbly  creep, 
And  find  the  fluts  afleep; 
Then  we  pinch  their  arms  and  thighs  j 
None  us  hears,  and  none  us  fjpies. 


Bet 


,S8         MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

But  if  the  houfe  be  fwept, 

And  from  uncleannefs  kept, 

We  praife  the  houfehold  maid, 

And  duly  fhe  is  paid  : 
Every  night  before  we  go, 
We  drop  a  tefter  in  her  (hoe. 

Then  o'er  a  muflirooms  head 

Our  table-cloth  we  fpread ; 

A  grain  of  rye  or  wheat, 

The  diet  that  we  eat ; 
Pearly  drops  of  dew  we  drink, 
In  acorn  cups  fill'd  to  the  brink.  * 


The  brains  of  nightingales, 

With  unduous  fat  of  fnails, 

Between  two  cockles  ftew'd, 

Is  meat  that's  eas'ly  chew'd ; 

Tails  of  worms  and  marrow  of  mice, 

Do  make  a  dim  that's  wondrous  nice. 

i      . 

The  grafshopper,  gnat,  and  fly, 

Serve  for  our  minftrelfyj 

Grace  faid,  we  dance  awhile, 

And  fo  the  time  beguile : 
And  if  the  moon  doth  hide  her  head, 
The  glow  worm  lights  us  home  to  bed. 


O'er 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.         ,S 

O'er  tops  of  dewy  grafs 

So  nimbly  we  do  pafs, 

The  young  and  tender  ftalk 

Ne'er  bends  where  we  do  walk ; 
Yet  in  the  morning  may  be  feen 
Where  we  the  night  before  have  been,  O, 


SONG     LVL 

IM1TATBD    FROM    THE    MIDSUM  MER- N  I  G  HTS   DREAM  OF 
SHAKSPEARE.       ACT   It.    SCENEV. 

O!  here,  beneath  this  hallow'd  made, 

Within  a  cowflips  bloflbm  deep, 
The  lovely  Queen  of  Elves  is  laid, 
May  nought  difturb  her  balmy  fleep! 

Let  not  the  fnake,  or  baleful  toad 

Approach  the  filent  manfion  near, 
Or  newt  profane  the  fweet  abode, 

Or  owl  repeat  her  orgies  here ! 

No  fnail  or  worm  mall  hither  come, 
With  noxious  filth  her  bow'r  to  ftain; 

Hence  be  the  beetles  fallen  hum, 
And  fpiders  difembowel'd  train. 

The  love-lorn  nightingale  alone 

Shall  through  Titanias  arbour  ftray, 
To  footh  her  fleep  with  melting  moan, 

And  lull  her  with  his  fweeteft  lay. 

SONG 


i6o 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 


SONG     LVII. 

THE  MAD  MERRY  PRANKS  OF  ROBIN  GOOD-FELLOW. 

FROM  Oberon,  in  Fairy-land, 
The  king  of  ghofts  and  (hadows  there, 
Mad  Robin  I,  at  his  command, 

Am  fent  to  view  the  night-fports  here ; 
What  revel  rout 
Is  kept  about, 
In  every  corner  where  I  go, 
I  will  o'er  fee, 
And  merry  be, 
And  make  good  fport,  with  ho,  ho,  ho ! 

More  fwift  than  lightning  can  I  fly 

About  this  airy  welkin  foon, 
And,  in  a  minutes  fpace,  defcry 
Each  thing  that's  done  below  the  moon. 

There's  not  a  hag, 

Nor  ghoft  mail  wag, 
Nor  cry,  Goblin  !  where  I  do  go  ; 

But  Robin  I 

Their  feats  will  fpy, 
And  fear  them  home,  with  ho,  ho,  ho ! 

If  any  wanderers  I  meet, 

That  from  their  night-fport  do  trudge  home ; 
With  counterfeiting  voice  I  greet, 
And  caufe  them  on  with  me  to  roam, 

Through 
5 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.        161 

Through  woods,  through  lakes, 

Through  bogs,  through  brakes, 
O'er  bufh  and  briar,  with  them  I  go ; 

I  call  upon 

Them  to  come  on, 
And  wend  me  laughing,  ho,  ho,  ho ! 

Sometimes  I  meet  them  like  a  man, 

Sometimes,  an  ox,  fometimes,  a  hound ; 
And  to  a  horfe  I  turn  me  can, 

To  trip  and  trot  about  them  round ; 

But  if,  to  ride, 

My  back  they  ftride, 
More  fwift  than  wind  away  I  go ; 

O'er  hedge  and  lands, 

Through  pools  and  ponds 
I  whirry,  laughing,  ho,  ho,  ho ! 

When  lads  and  lafles  merry  be, 

With  poflets  and  with  junkets  fine, 
Unfeen  of  all  the  company, 

I  eat  their  cates,  and  fip  their  wine; 
And,  to  make  fport, 
I  fart  and  fnort, 
And  out  the  candles  I  do  blow ; 
The  maids  I  kifs ; 
They  mriek— Who's  this  ? 
I  anfwer  nought,  but  ho,  ho,  ho! 

VOL.  II.  M  ,       Vet 


i6z         MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS, 

Yet,  now  and  then,  the  maids  to  pleafe, 

I  card,  at  midnight,  up  their  wool ; 
And,  while  they  flecp,  fnort,  fart,  and  feafe, 
With  wheel  to  thread  their  flax  I  pull ; 

I  grind  at  mill 

Their  malt  up  ftill, 
I  drefs  their  hemp,  I  fpin  their  tow ; 

If  any  wake, 

And  would  me  take, 
I  wend  me  laughing,  ho,  ho,  ho ! 

When  houfe  or  hearth  doth  flutcifh  lie, 
I  pinch  the  maidens  black  and  blue ; 
And  from  the  bed  the  bed-clothes  I 
Pull  off,  and  lay  them  nak'd  to  view; 

'Twixt  fleep  and  wake, 

I  do  them  take, 
And  on  the  key-cold  floor  them  throw  ; 

If  out  they  cry, 

Then  forth  I  fly, 
And  loudly  laugh  I,  ho,  ho,  ho! 

I 
When  any  need  to  borrow  ought, 

We  lend  them  what  they  do  require  ; 
And  for  the  ufe  demand  we  nought ; 
Our  own  is  all  we  do  defire : 

If  to  repay 

They  do  delay, 
Abroad  amongfl  them  then  I  go  j 

And  night  by  night 

I  them  affright, 
With  pinching,  xlreams,  and  ho,  ho,  ho ! 

When 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.         163 

When  lazy  queans  have  nought  to  do, 

But  ftudy  how  to  cog  and  lie, 

To  make  debate  and  mifchief  too 

'Twixt  one  another  fecretly, 

I  mark  their  gloze, 

And  it  difclofe 
To  them  that  they  have  wronged  fo ; 

When  I  have  done 

I  get  me  gone, 
And  leave  them  fcolding,  ho,  ho,  ho  ! 

When  men  do  traps  and  engines  fet 

In  loop-holes,  where  the  vermin  creep, 
Who  from  their  folds  and  houfes  fet 

Their  ducks  and  geefe,  and  lambs  and  fheep, 

I  fpy  the  gin, 

And  enter  in, 
And  feem  a  vermin  taken  fo ; 

But  when  they  there 

Approach  me  near, 
I  leap  out  laughing,  ho,  ho,  ho ! 

By  wells  and  gills,  in  meadows  green, 

We  nightly  dance  our  hey-day  guife ; 
And  to  our  Fairy  king  and  queen 
We  chant  our  moonlight  minftrelfies : 
When  larks  'gin  fmg 
Away  we  fling, 

And  babes  new  born  fteal  as  we  go, 
An  elf  in  bed 
We  leave  inftead, 

And  wend  us  laughing,  ho,  ho,  ho  ! 
M  z 


164        MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

From  hag-bred  Merlins  time  have  I 
Thus  nightly  revel'd  to  and  fro; 
And,  for  my  pranks,  men  call  me  by 
The  name  of  Robin  Good-fellow  : 

Fiends,  ghofts,  and  fprites, 

That  haunt  the  nights, 
The  hags  and  goblins  do  me  know ; 

And  belldames  old 

My  feats  have  told  : 
So  Vale,  Vale ;  ho,  ho,  ho  ! 


S  O  N  G     LVIII. 

THE    GRASSHOPPER. 

FROM    ANACREON. 
BYABRAHAM    COWLEY    E  S  Q^ 

HAPPY  infea!  what  can  be 
In  happinefs  compar'd  to  thee  ? 
Fed  with  nourifhment  divine, 
The  dewy  mornings  gentle  wine. 
Nature  waits  upon  thee  ftill, 
And  thy  verdant  cup  does  fill ; 
'Tis  fill'd  whereever  thou  doft  tread, 
Natures  felf's  thy  Ganymede. 
Thou  doft  drink,  and  dance,  and  fingj 
Happier  than  the  happieft  king! 
All  the  fields,  which  thou  doft  fee, 
All  the  plants  belong  to  thee; 
All  that  fummer  hours  produce, 
Fertile  made  with  early  juice. 

Man 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.          165 

Man  for  thee  does  fow  and  plow; 

Farmer  he,  and  landlord  thou  t 

Thou  doft  innocently  enjoy; 

Nor  does  thy  luxury  deftroy; 

The  fhepherd  gladly  heareth  thee, 

More  harmonious  than  he. 

Thee  country  hinds  with  gladnefs  hear, 

Prophet  of  the  ripen'd  year! 

Thee  Phoebus  loves,  and  does  infpire; 

Phoebus  is  himfelf  thy  fue. 

To  thee,  of  all  things  upon  earth. 

Life  is  no  longer  than  thy  mirth. 

Happy  infeft!  happy  thou 

Doft  neither  age  nor  winter  know: 

But,  when  thou'ft  drunk,  and  danc'd,  and  fung 

Thy  fill,  the  flowery  leaves  among, 

(Voluptuous,  and  wife  withall, 

Epicurean  animal !) 

Sated  with  thy  fummer  feaft, 

Thou  retir'ft  to  endlefs  reft. 


SONG      LIX. 
THE   HUNTING   OF   THE   HARE. 


S 


IONGS  of  fliepherds,  in  ruftical  roundelays, 
Form'd  in  fancy,  and  whittled  on  reeds, 
Sung  to  folace  young  nymphs  upon  holidays, 
Are  too  unworthy  for  wonderful  deeds. 

TWT  ,  Sottifh 


166        MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

Sottifh  Silenus 

To  Phcebus  the  genius 

Was  fent  by  dame  Venus,  a  fong  to  prepare, 

In  phrafe  nicely  coin'd, 

And  verfe  quite  refin'd, 

JIow  the  flates  divine  hunted  the  hare. 

Stars  quite  tir'd  with  paftimes  Olympical, 

Stars  and  planets  which  beautiful  ihone, 

Could  no  longer  endure  that  men  only  ihall 

Swim  in  pleafures,  and  they  but  look  on ; 

Round  about  horned 

Lucina  they  fwarrned, 

And  her  informed  how  minded  they  were, 

Each  god  and  goddefs, 

To  take  human  bodies, 

As  lords  and  ladies,  to  follow  the  hare. 

Chafte  Diana  applauded  the  motion, 

While  pale  Proferpina  fat  in  her  place, 

To  light  the  welkin,  and  govern  the  ocean, 

While  fhe  conducted  her  nephews  in  chace ; 

By  her  example, 

Their  father  to  trample, 

The  earth  old  and  ample,  they  foo'n  leave  the  air ; 

Neptune  the  water, 

And  wine  Liber  Pater, 

And  Mars  the  {laughter,  to  follow  the  hare. 

„ 

Light  god  Cupid  was  mounted  on  Pegafus, 
Borrow'd  of  the  Mufes  with  kifics  and  pray'rs ; 

Strong 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.          167 

Strong  Alcides,  upon  cloudy  Caucafus, 

Mounts  a  centaur,  which  proudly  him  bears ; 

Poftilion  of  the  flcy, 

Light-heel'd  Mercury 

Made  his  courfer  fly,  fleet  as  the  air ; 

While  tuneful  Apollo 

The  kennel  did  follow, 

And  hoop  and  hollow,  boys,  after  the  hare. 

Drown 'd  Narciflus  from  his  metamorphofis, 

Rous'd  by  Echo,  new  manhood  did  take ; 

Snoring  Somnus  upftarted  from  Cimmeris, 

Before  for  a  thoufand  years  he  did  not  wake; 

There  was  club-footed 

Mulciber  booted, 

And  Pan  promoted  on  Corydons  mare ; 

Proud  Pallas  pouted, 

Loud  JEolus  fhouted, 

And  Momus  flouted,  yet  follow'd  the  hare. 

Hymen  ufhers  the  lady  Aftraea, 

The  jeft  took  hold  of  Latona  the  cold ; 

Ceres  the  brown,  with  bright  Cytherea ; 

Thetis  the  wanton,  Bellona  the  bold  ; 

Shame-fac'd  Aurora, 

With  witty  Pandora, 

And  Maia  with  Flora  did  company  bear; 

But  Juno  was  ftated 

Too  high  to  be  mated, 

Although  me  hated  not  hunting  the  hare. 

M  4  Thr 


i68        MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

Three  brown  bowls  to  th'  Olympical  re&or, 

The  Troy-born  boy  prefents  on  his  knee  j 

Jove  to  Phoebus  caroufes  in  neftar, 

And  Phcebus  to  Hermes,  and  Hermes  to  me. 

Wherewith  infufed, 

I  piped  and  mufed, 

In  language  unufed,  their  fports  to  declare : 

Till  the  houfe  of  Jove 

Like  the  fpheres  did  move  ;—» 

Health  to  thofe  that  love  hunting  the  hare.  O. 

SONG    LX. 

THE    IRISH    HUNT. 
Tune,  Sheela  no.  guiragh, 

HARK  !  hark !  jolly  fportsmen,  awhile  to  my  tale, 
To  pay  your  attention  I'm  fure  it  can't  fail : 
3Tis  of  lads,  and  of  horfes,  and  dogs  that  ne'er  tire, 
O'er  ftone  walls  and  hedges,  though  dale,  bog,  and  briar ; 
A  pack  of  fuch  hounds,  and  a  fet  of  fuch  men 
JTis  a  fhrewd  chance  if  everj-ou  meet  with  again; 
Had  Nimrod,  the  mightieft  of  hunters,  been  there, 
'Fore  gad  he'd  have  fliook  like  an  afpen,  for  fear. 

In  feventeen  hundred,  and  forty  and  four, 
The  fifth  of  December,  I  think  'twas  no  more, 
At  five  in  the  morning,  by  mod  of  the  clocks, 
We  rode  from  Kilruddery  in  fearch  of  a  fox ; 
The  Laughlinstown  landlord,  the  bold  Owen  Bray, 
And  fquire  Adair  fure  was  with  us  that  day ; 
Joe  Debbil,  Hal  Prefton,  that  huntsman  fo  ftout, 
Dick  Holmes,  a  few  others,  and  fo  we  fet  out. 

We 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.          169 

We  caft  off  our  hounds  for  an  hour  or  more, 

When  Wanton  fet  up  a  moft  tuneable  roar; 

Hark  to  Wanton  !  cried  Joe,  and  the  reft  were  not  flack, 

For  Wanton's  no  trifler  efteem'd  in  the  pack ; 

Old  Bonny  and  Collier  came  readily  in, 

And  every  hound  join'd  in  the  mufical  din  ; 

Had  Diana  been  there  me'd  been  pleas'd  to  the  life, 

And  one  of  the  iads  got  a  goddefs  to  wife. 

Ten  minutes  paft  nine  was  the  time  of  the  day, 
When  Reynard  broke  cover,  and  this  was  his  play  : 
As  ftrong  from  Killegar  as  though  he  could  fear  none, 
Away  he  brufh'd  round  by  the  houfe  of  Kilternan; 
To  Carrickmines  thence,  and  to  Cherrywood  then, 
Steep  Shankhill  he  climb'd,  and  to  Ballyman-glen ; 
Bray-common  he  crofs'd,  leap'd  lord  Anglefeys  wall, 
And  feem'd  to  fay,  Little  1  value  you  all. 

He  ran  Bufhes-grove,  up  to  Carberry-Burns, 
Joe  Debbil,  Hal  Prefton  kept  leading  by  turns : 
The  earth  it  was  open,  but  he  was  fo  ftout, 
Though  he  might  have  got  in,  yet  he  chofe  to  keep  out: 
To  Malpas'  high  hills  was  the  way  then  he  flew; 
At  Daikeyftone-common  we  had  him  in  view; 
He  drove  on,  by  Bullock,  through  Shrubglanagery, 
And  fo  on  to  Mountown,  where  Laury  grew  weary. 

Through  Rochestown  wood  like  an  arrow  he  pafs'd, 
And  came  to  the  fleep  hills  of  Dalkey  at  laft; 
There  gallantly  plung'd  himfelf  into  the  fea, 
And  faid  in  his  heart,  Sure  none  dare  follow  me: 
But  foon,  to  his  coft,  he  perceiv'd  that  no  bounds, 
Could  flop'  the  purfuit  of  fuch  Haunch  mettled  hounds ; 

His 


I7e         MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

His  policy  here  did  not  ferve  him  a  rufh, 
Five  couple  of  tartars  were  hard  at  his  brufli. 

To  recover  the  more  then  again  was  his  drift, 
But,  ere  he  could  reach  to  the  top  of  the  cliftv 
He  found  both  of  fpeed  and  of  cunning  a  lack, 
Being  way-laid  and  kill'd  by  the  reft  of  the  pack. 
At  his  death  there  were  prefent  the  lads  I  have  fung, 
Save  Laury,  who,  riding  a  garron,  was  flung. 
Thus  ended,  at  length,  a  moft  delicate  chafe, 
That  held  us  five  hours  and  ten  minutes  fpace. 

We  return'd  to  Kilrudderys  plentiful  board, 
Where  dwells  Hofpitality,  Truth,  and  my  lord ; 
We  talk'd  o'er  the  chafe,  and  we  toafted  the  health 
Of  the  man  that  ne'er  varied  for  places  or  wealth. 
Owen  Bray  balk'd  a  leap,  fays  Hal  Prefton,  'twas  odd  ; 
*Twas  (hameful,  cries  Jack,  by  the  great  living  God : 
Says  Prefton,  I  halloo'd,  Get  on,  though  you  fall ; 
Or  I'll  leap  over  you,  your  blind  gelding  and  all. 

Each  glafs  was  adapted  to  freedom  and  fport, 

For  party  affairs  we  confign'd  to  the  court : 

Thus  we  finilh'd  the  reft  of  the  day,  and  the  night, 

In  gay  flowing  bumpers  and  focial  delight ; 

Then,  till  the  next  meeting,  bid  farewell  each  brother, 

For  fome  they  went  one  way,  and  fome  went  another : 

As  Phoebus  befriended  our  earlier  roam, 

So  Luna  took  care  in  conducing  us  home. 


SONG 


MISCELLANEOUS   SONGS.          171 

SONG    LXI. 

THE   THIEF    AND    CORDELIER. 
BY    MATHEW    PRIOR    ESQ.. 

Tune,  King  John  and  the  abbot  of  Canterbury. 

WHO  has   e'er  been  at  Paris  muft  needs  know  the 
Greve, 

The  fatal  retreat  of  th'  unfortunate  brave ; 
Where  honour  and  juftice  moft  oddly  contribute 
To  eafe  heroes  pains  by  a  halter  and  gibbet. 
Derry  down,  down,  hey  derry  down. 

There  Death  breaks  the  {hackles  which  force  had  put  on, 
And  the  hangman  completes  what  the  judge  had  begun  ; 
There  the  fquire  of  the  pad,  and  the  knight  of  the  poft, 
Find  their  pains  no  more  balk'd,  and  their  hopes  no  more 

crofs'd. 
Derry  down,  &c. 

Great  claims  are  there  made,  and  great  fecrets  are  known  j 
And  the  king,  and  the  law,  and  the  thief  has  his  own: 
But  my  hearers  cry  out,  what  a  deuce'  doft  thou  ail  ? 
Put  off  thy  reflections,  and  give  us  thy  tale. 
Derry  down,  &c. 

'Twas  there,  then,  in  civil  refpedt  to  harfh  laws, 
And  for  want  of  falfe  witnefs  to  back  a  bad  caufe, 
A  Norman,  though  late,  was  oblig'd  to  appear ; 
And  who  to  aflift  but  a  grave  Cordelier ! 
Derry  down,  &c. 

The 


,7z         MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

The  fquire,  whofe  good  grace  was  to  open  the  fcene, 
Seem'd  not  in  great  hafte  that  the  fhow  fhould  begin  ; 
Now  fitted  the  halter,  now  travers'd  the  cart ; 
And  often  took  leave,  but  was  loth  to  depart. 
Deny  down,  fcfr. 

What  frightens  you  thus,  my  good  fon  ?  fays  the  prieft  ; 
You  murder'd,  are  forry,  and  have  been  confefs'd : 
O  father !  my  forrow  will  fcarce  fave  my  bacon ; 
For  'twas  not  that  I  murder'd,  but  that  I  was  taken. 
Deny  down,  &c. 

Pough !  prithee  ne'er  trouble  thy  head  with  fuch  fancies  ; 
Rely  on  the  aid  you  mall  have  from  Saint  Francis : 
If  the  money  you  promis'd  be  brought  to  the  cheft, 
You  have  only  to  die  ;  let  the  church  do  the  reft. 
Deny  down,  tffc. 

And  what  will  folks  fay,  if  they  fee  you  afraid  ? 
It  reflects  upon  me,  as  I  knew  not  my  trade : 
Courage,  friend  !  to-day  is  your  period  of  forrow, 
And  things  will  go  better,  believe  me,  to-morrow. 
Deny  down,  &c. 

To-morrow !  our  hero  replied  in  a  fright ; 
He  that's  hang'd  before  noon  ought  to  think  of  to-night. 
Tell  your  beads,  quoth  the  prieft,  and  be  fairly  trufs'd  up  ; 
For  you  furely  to-night  fhall  in  paradife  fup. 
Deny  down,  &c. 

Alas ! 


MISCELLANEOUS   SONGS.         173 

Alas !  quoth  the  fquire,  howe'er  fumptuous  the  treat, 
Parbleu !  I  (hall  have  little  ftomach  to  eat : 
I  Ihould  therefor  efteem  it  great  favour  and  grace, 
Would  you  be  fo  kind  as  to  go  in  my  place. 
Derry  down,  fcffr. 

That  I  would,  quoth  the  father,  and  thank  you  to  boot; 
But  our  aftions,  you  know,  with  our  duty  muft  fuit : 
The  feaft  I  propos'd  to  you,  I  cannot  tafte  j 
for  this  night,  by  our  order,  is  mark'd  for  a  fall, 
Derry  down,  fcJV. 

Then,  turning  about  to  the  hangman,  he  faid, 
Difpatch  me,  I  prithee,  this  troublefome  blade : 
For  thy  cord  and  my  cord  both  equally  tie ; 
And  we  live  by  the  gold  for  which  other  men  die. 
Derry  down,  down,  hey  derry  down. 


SONG    LXII. 

IN  Tyburn-road  a  man  there  liv'd 
A  juft  and  honeft  life  ; 
And  there  he  might  have  lived  ftill, 
If  fo  had  pleas'd  his  wife. 

But  (he,  to  vicious  ways  inclin'd, 

A  life  molt  wicked  led; 
With  tailors,  and  with  tinkers  too, 

She  oft  defil'd  his  bed. 

Fall 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

Full  twice  a  day  to  church  he  went, 

And  fo  devout  would  be, 
Sure  never  was  a.  faint  on  earth, 

If  that  no  faint  was  he. 

This  vex'd  his  wife  unto  the  heart; 

'She  was  of  wrath  fo  full, 
That,  finding  no  hole  in  his  coat, 

She  pick'd  one  in  Ws  fcull. 

But  then  her  heart  'gan  to  relent, 
And  griev'd  Ihe  was  full  fore; 

That,  quarter  to  him  for  to  give, 
She  cut  him  into  four. 

AH  in  the  dark  and  dead  of  night 

Thefe  quarters  me  convey'd, 
And  in  a  ditch,  at  Marybone, 

His  marrowbones  me  laid. 

His  head,  at  Weftminfter,  fhe  threw 
All  in  the  Thames  fo  wide; 

Says  fhe,  my  dear,  the  wind  fets  fair, 
And  you  may  have  the  tide. 

But  Heav'n,  whofe  povv'r  no  limit  knows, 

On  earth,  or  in  the  main, 
Soon  caus'd  this  head  for  to  be  thrown 

Upon,  the  land  again. 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.         175 

This  head  being  found,  the  juftices 

Their  heads  together  laid, 
And  all  agreed,  there  muft  have  been 

Some  body  to  this  head. 

But,  fmce  no  body  could  be  found, 

High  mounted  on  a  fhelf, 
They  e'en  fet  up  this  head  to  be 

A  witnefs  for  itfelf. 

Next,  that  it  no  felf-murder  was, 

The  cafe  itfelf  explains ; 
For  no  man  could  cut  off  his  head, 

And  throw  it  in  the  Thames. 

^ 
Ere  niany  days  had  gone  and  pafs'd, 

The  deed,  at  length,  was  known; 
And  Kath'rine  ihe  confefs'd,  at  laft, 

The  fact  to  be  her  own. 

God  profper  long  our  noble  king, 

Our  lives  and  fafeties  all; 
And  grant  that  we  may  take  advice 

By  Kath'rine  Hayeses  fall  *. 

*  She  w«  burned  alive  for  this  murder,  gth  May,  1726.  The  ballad 
will  fcarcely  bethought  void  of  merit:  but  it  it  to  be  hoped  that  its 
author  is  the  only  one  who  ever  attempted  to  be  witty  on  fo  flwcking  • 
fubjtfl, 


SONG 


176         MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

SONG    LXIII. 
.HOSIERS      GHOST.  * 

BY    MR.    GLOVER. 
Tune,  Come  and  liften  to  my  ditty. 

AS  near  Porto-Bello  lying 
On  the  gently-fwelling  flood, 
At  midnight,  with  ftreamers  flying, 

Our  triumphant  navy  rode ; 
There  while  Vernon  fate  all -glorious 

From  the  Spaniards  late  defeat, 
And  his  crews,  with  fhouts  victorious, 
Drank  fuccefs  to  Englands  fleet, 

On  a  fudden,  fhrilly  founding, 

Hideous  yells  and  ihrieks  were  heard  ; 
Then,  each  heart  with  fear  confounding, 

A  fad  troop  of  ghofts  appear'd ; 
All  in  dreary  hammocks  fhrouded, 

WhicK  for  winding-  fheets  they  wore, 
And,  with  looks  by  forrow  clouded, 

Frowning  on  that  hoflile  fhore. 

*  Thefe  elegant  ftanzas  were  written  (chiefly,  perhaps,  with  a  deffga 
to  inctnfe  the  public  againft  the  maladminiftration  of  fir  Robert  Walpole) 
on  the  taking  of  Porto-Bello,  from  the  Spaniards,  by  admiral  Vernon,  in 
1739.  The  circumftances  attending  the  death  of  admiral  Hofier,  which 
happened  in  thofe  parts,  1726,  are  recorded  in  hiftory  nearly  in  the  fame 
manner  as  they  are  reprefented  in  the  fong, 

On 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.  177 

On  them  glearo'd  the  moons  wan  lullre, 

When  the  fhade  of  Hofier  brave 
His  pale  bands  was  feen  to  mufter, 

Rifing  from  their  wat'ry  grave: 
O'er  the  glimmering  wave  he  hied  him, 

Where  the  Burford  rear'd  her  fail, 
With  three  thoufand  ghofts  befide  him, 

And  in  groans  did  Vernon  hail. 

Heed,  oh!  heed  our  fatal  flory; 

I  am  Hofiers  injur'd  ghoft ; 
You  who  now  have  purchas'd  glory 

At  this  place  where  I  was  loft, 
Though  in  Porto-Bellos  ruin 

You  now  triumph,  free  from  fears, 
When  you  think  on  my  undoing, 

You  will  mix  your  joys  with  tears. 

See  thefe  mournful  fpeftres,  fweeping 

Ghaftly  o'er  this  hated  wave, 
Whofe  wan  cheeks  are  ftain'd  with  weeping ; 

Thefe  were  Englifh  captains  brave: 
Mark  thofe  numbers,  pale  and  horrid, 

Who  were  once  my  failors  bold; 
Lo!  each  hangs  his  drooping  forehead, 

While  his  difmal  tale  is  told. 

I,  by  twenty  fail  attended, 

Did  this  Spanim  town  affright, 
Nothing  then  its  wealth  defended, 

But  my  orders,  not  to  fight* 
VOL.  II.  N 


i78        MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

Oh!  that  in  this  rolling  ocean 

I  had  caft  them  with  difdain, 
And  obey'd  my  hearts  warm  motion 

To  have  quell'd  the  pride  of  Spain. 

For  refiftance  I  could  fear  none, 

But  with  twenty  Ihips  had  done 
What  thou,  brave  and  happy  Vernon, 

Haft  atchiev'd  with  fix  alone. 
Then  the  Bastimentos  never 

Had  our  foul  dishonour  feen, 
Nor  the  fea  the  fad  receiver 

Of  this  gallant  train  had  been. 

Thus,  like  thee,  proud  Spain  difmaying, 

And  her  galleons  leading  home, 
Though,  condemn'd  for  difobeying, 

I  had  met  a  traitors  doom ; 
To  have  fall'n,  my  country  crying, 

He  has  play'd  an  Englifh  part, 
Had  been  better  far  than  dying 

Of  a  griev'd  and  broken  heart. 

Unrepining  at  thy  glory, 

Thy  fucccfsful  arms  we  hail; 
But  remember  our  fad  (lory, 

And  let  Hofiers  wrongs  prevail. 
Sent  in  this  foul  clime  to  languish, 

Think  what  thoufands  fell  in  vain, 
Wafted  with  difeafe  and  anguifh, 

Not  in  glorious  battle  (lain.     . 

Hence 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.        179 

Hence  with  all  my  train  attending 

From  their  oozy  tombs  below* 
Through  the  hoary  foam  afcending, 

Here  I  feed  my  conftant  woe : 
Here  the  Bastimentos  viewing* 

We  recall  our  fhameful  doom, 
And,  our  plaintive  cries  renewing, 

Wander  through  the  midnight  gloom. 

O'er  thefe  waves,  for  ever  mourning, 

Shall  we  roam,  depriv'd  of  reft, 
If,  to  Britains  mores  returning, 

You  neglefl  my  juft  requeft: 
After  this  proud  foe  fubduing, 

When  your  patriot  friends  you  fee, 
Think  on  vengeance  for  my  ruin, 

And  for  England— iham'd  in  me. 


SONG    LXIV. 
CAPTAIN    DEATH.* 

THE  mufe  and  the  hero  together  are  fir'd, 
The  fame  noble  views  have  their  bofoms  infpir'd  ; 
As  freedom  they  love,  and  for  glory  contend, 
The  mufe  o'er  the  hero  flill  mourns  as  a  friend : 
And  here  let  the  mufe  her  poor  tribute  bequeath 
To  one  Britim  hero,— 'tis  brave  captain  Death ! 

*  Written,  a*  it  is  faid,  by  one  of  his  furviving  crew. 

N  2  His 


,8o        MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

His  <hip  was  the  Terrible,— dreadful  to  fee ! 
His  crew  were  as  brave,  and  as  gallant  as  he ; 
Two  hundred,  or  more,  was  their  good  comple 
And  fure  braver  fellows  to  fea  never  went : 
Each  man  was  determin'd  to  fpend  his  laft  breath 
In  fighting  for  Britain,  and  brave  captain  Death, 

A  prize  they  had  taken  diminifh'd  their  force, 

And  foon  the  good  prize-fhip  was  loft  in  her  courfe 

The  French  privateer  *  and  the  Terrible  met  5- 

The  battle  begun.-all  with  horror  befet : 

No  heart  was  difmay'd.-each  as  bold  as  Macbeth  ;- 

They  fought  for  Old-England,  and  brave  captain  Death. 

Fire,  thunder,  balls,  bullets,  were  feen,  heard,  and  felt ; 
A  fight  that  the  heart  of  Bellona  would  melt! 
The  (hronds  were  all  torn,  and  the  decks  fill'd  vath  blood, 
And  fcores  of  dead  bodies  were  thrown  in  the  flood 
The  flood,  from  the  days  of  old  Noah  and  Seth, 
Ne'er  faw  fuch  a  man  as  our  brave  captain  Death. 

At  laft  the  dread  bullet  came  wing'd  with  his  fate, 
Our  brave  captain  dropp'd,— and  foon  after  his  mate;- 


«  Called  the  Vengeance.—  The  ftrange  circumftance  mentioned    by 
fotne  writers  of  one  of  the  Terrible*  lieutenants  being  named  Ditnf, 
the  furgeon  Chop,    and  of  her    having  been    fitted  cut  at    ft* 
dxk,  feems  entirely   void   of  foundation. 


Each 


MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS.          ,g, 

Each  officer  fell,  and  a  carnage  was  feen, 
That  foon  died  the  waves  to  acrimfon  from  green  : 
And  Neptune  rofe  up,  and  he  took  oft"  his  wreath, 
And  gave  it  a  Triton  to  crown  captain  Death, 

Thus  fell  theftrong  Terrible,  bravely  and  bold  ; 

But  fixteen  furvivers  the  tale  can  unfold; 

The  French  were  the  viftors, — though  much  to  their  coft, — 

For  many  brave  French  were  with  Englimmen  loft. 

And  thus  fays  Old  Time,  From  good  queen  Elizabeth, 

I  ne'er  faw  the  fellow  of  brave  captain  Death. 


SONG    LXV. 
THE    SEA    FIGHT    IN    XC1I.» 

THURSDAY  in  the  morn,  the  ides  of  May, 
Recorded  for  ever  the  famous  ninety-two, 
Brave  Ruffel  did  difcern,  by  dawn  of  day, 
The  lofty  fails  of  France  advancing  now : 
All  hands  aloft,  aloft,  let  Englifh  valour  mine, 
Let  fly  a  culverin,  the  fignal  of  the  line; 
Let  every  hand  fupply  his  gun  j 
Follow  me, 
And  you'll  fee 
That  the  battle  will  be  foon  begun. 

JJ  2  Tourvillc 

*  The  greit  naval  viftory,  intended  to  be  celebrated  by  this  excellent 
eld  fong,  was  determined,  after  a  running  aftion  of  feveral  days,  off  cape 
LaHo3uc,  on  the  coaft  of  Normandy,  the  asd  of  May,  1691,  in  favour  of 

t  e 


i8z         MISCELLANEOUS    SONGS. 

Tourville  on  the  main  triumphant  roll'd, 

To  meet  the  gallant  Ruflel  in  combat  on  the  deep; 
He  led  the  noble  train  of  heroes  bold, 

To  fink  the  Englifh  admiral  at  his  feet. 
Now  every  valiant  mind  to  vi&ory  doth  afpire, 
The  bloody  fight's  begun,  the  fea  itfelf  on  fire  ; 

And  mighty  Fate  flood  looking  on  ; 
Whilft  a  flood, 
All  of  blood, 

Fill'd  the  fcupper-holes  of  the  Royal  Sun. 

Sulphur,  fmoke  and  fire,  difturbing  the  air, 
With  thunder  and  wonder  affright  the  Gallic  fliore ; 

Their  regulated  bands  flood  trembling  near, 
To  fee  the  lofty  flreamers  now  no  more. 


the  Englifh  and  Dutch  combined  fleets,  confifting  of  99  fail  of  the  line, 
under  the  command  of  admiral  RufTel,  afterwards  earl  of  Orford,  over  a 
French  fquadron  of  about  half  that  number,  commanded  by  the  chevalier 
Tourville,  whofe  fliip,  LeSc/eil  Reyal,  carried  upwards  of  a  hundred  guns,  and 
was  efteemed  the  fineft  veflel  in  Europe.  This  laft  fleet  was  fitted  out  for  the 
purpofe  of  reftcring  King  James  the  fccond  to  his  dominions}  and  that 
prince,  together  with  the  duke  of  Berwick,  and  feveral  great  officers,  both 
of  his  own  court,  and  of  the  court  of  France,  and  even  Tourville  his  felf, 
beheld  the  final  deftruftion  of  the  French  fhips  from  an  eminence  on  the 
ftiore.  It  is,  now,  certain  that  Rufiel  had  engaged  to  favour  the  fcheme 
of-  his  old  matters  reftoration,  on  condition  that  the  French  took  care  to 
avoid  him  ;  but  Tourvilles  impetuofity  and  rafhnefs  rendered  the  whole 
meafure  abortive:  And  the  diftrefied  and  ill-fated  monarch  retired,  in  a 
fit  of  defpondency,  to  mourn  his  misfortunes,  and  recover  his  peace  of 
mind,  amid  the  folitary  gloom  of  La  Trappe, 

At 


MISCELLANEOUS   SONGS.       183 

At  fix  o'clock  the  Red  the  fmiling  viftors  led, 
To  give  a  fecond  blow,  the  fatal  overthrow ; 
Now  Death  and  Horror  equal  reign ; 
Now  they  cry, 
Run  or  die, 
Britifli  colours  ride  the  vanquifli'd  main  : 

See  they  fly  amaz'd  through  rocks  and  fands, 

One  danger  they  grafp  at  to  Ihun  the  greater  fate ; 
In  vain  they  cry  for  aid  to  weeping  lands ; 

The  nymphs  and  fea-gods  mourn  their  loft  eftatc. 
For  evermore  adieu,  thou  Royal  dazzling  Sun, 
From  thy  untimely  end  thy  mailers  fate  begun  : 

Enough,  thou  mighty  god  of  War ! 
Now  we  ling, 
Blefs  the  king, 

Let  us  drink  to  every  Englifli  tar.  0. 


PART    THE    FOURTH. 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 


BALLAD    L 
LORD  THOMAS  AND  FAIR  ELEANOR. 

LORD  Thomas  he  was  a  bold  forefter, 
And  a  chafer  of  the  kings  deer  ; 
Fair  Eleanor  was  a  fine  woman, 

And  Lord  Thomas  he  lov'd  her  dear. 

Come  riddle  my  riddle,  dear  mother,  he  faid, 

And  riddle  us  both  as  one  ; 
Whether  I  mall  marry  with  fair  Eleandr, 

And  let  the  brown  girl  alone  ? 


The 


iSS  ANCIENT    BALL  ADS. 

The  brown  girl  fhe  has  got  houfes  and  lands, 

Fair  Eleanor  fhe  has  got  none, 
Therefor  I  charge  thee,  on  my  blefsing, 

To  bring  me  the  brown  girl  home. 

And  as  it  befell  on  a  high  holiday, 

As  many  did  more  befide, 
Lord  Thomas  he  went  to  fair  Eleanor, 

That  mould  have  been  his  bride. 

But  when  he  came  to  fair  Eleanors  bower, 

He  knocked  there  at  the  ring, 
But  who  was  fo  ready  as  fair  Eleanor, 
kC   (  i.    ,To  lefclord  T?nomas  within. 

What  news,  what  news,  lord  Thomas  ?  fhe  faid, 

What  news  haft  thou  brought  unto  me  ? 
I  am  come  to  bid  thee  to  my  wedding, 

And  that  is  bad  news  for  thee. 

. 

0  God  forbid,  lord  Thomas,  fhe  faid, 
That  fuch  a  thing  fhould  be  done  ; 

1  though^  to  have  been  thy  bride  my  own  felf, 

And  you  to  have  been  the  bridegroom. 

Come  riddle  my  riddle,  dear  mother,  fhe  faid, 

And  riddle  it  all  in  one 5 
Whether  I  fhall  go  tO;  lord  Thomases  wedding, 

Or  \yhether  I  fhall  tarry  at  home  ?    . 

' 
z  There's 


ANCIENT    B  ALL.AD  S. 

There's  many  that  are  your  friends,  daughter, 

And  many  that  are  your  foe, 
Therefor  I  charge  you,  on  by  blefling, 

To  lord  Thomases  wedding  don't  go. 

There's  many  that  are  my  friends,  mother, 
If  a  thoufand  more  were  my  foe, 

Betide  my  life,  or  betide  my  death, 
To  lord  Thomases  wedding  I'll  go. 

She  clothed  herfelf  in  gallant  attire, 
And  her  merry  men  all  in  green, 
And  as  they  rid  through  every  town, 
They  took  her  to  have  been  a  queen. 

But  when  me  came  to  lord  Thomases  gate, 

She  knocked  there  at  the  ring ; 
But  who  was  fo  ready  as  lord  Thomas, 

To  let  fair  Eleanor  in. 

Is  this  your  bride  ?  fair  Ellen  ihe  faid, 

Methinks  flic  looks  wonderous  brown  j 
You  might  have  had  as  fair  a-woman, 

As  ever  trod  on  the  ground. 

•> 
Defpife  her  not,  fak  Ellen,  he  faid, 

Defpife  her  not  unto  me  ; 
For  better  I  love  thy  little-finger, 

Than  all  her  svhol*  body. 


This 


I9o  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

This  brown  bride  had  a  little  penknife, 

That  was  both  long  and  iharp, 
And  betwixt  the  Ihort  ribs  and  the  long, 

She  prick'd  fair  Eleanor  to  the  heart. 

Oh  !  Chrift  now  fave  thee,  lord  Thomas,  he  faid, 
Methinks  thou  look'ft  wonderous  wain  ; 

Thou  waft  us'd  for  to  look  with  as  freih  a  colour, 
As  ever  the  fun  Ihin'd  on. 

Oh  !  art  thou  blind,  lord  Thomas  ?  flie  faid, 

Or  can'ft  thou  not  very  well  fee  ? 
Oh  !  dofl  thou  not  fee  my  own  hearts  blood 

Runs  trickling  down  my  knee  ?  , 

Lord  Thomas  he  had  a  fword  by  his  fide  ; 

As  he  walk'd  about  the  hall, 
He  cut  off  his  brides  head  from  her  moulders. 

And  he  threw  it  againft  the  wall. 

He  fct  the  hilt  againft  the  ground, 

And  the  point  againft  his  heart, 
There  was  never  three  lovers  that  ever  met 

More  fooncr  they  did  depart. 

BALLAD    II. 

FAIR  MAGARET  AND  SWEET  WILLIAM. 

AS  it  fell  out  upon  a  day, 
Two  lovers  they  fat  on  a  hill  ; 
They  fat  together  a  long  fummers  day, 
And  could  not  talk  their  fill. 

I  fee 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  ,9, 

I  fee  no  harm  by  you,  Margaret, 

And  you  fee  none  by  me  ; 
Before  to-morrow  at  eight  o'clock 

A  rich  wedding  you  mall  fee. 

Fair  Margaret  fate  in  her  bower-window, 

A  combing  of  her  hair  ; 
There  me  efpied  fweet  William  and  his  bride, 

As  they  were  a  riding  near. 

Down  me  laid  her  ivory  comb, 

And  up  me  bound  her  hair  ; 
She  went  away  firft  from  the  bower, 

But  never  more  came  there. 

When  day  was  gone,  and  night  was  come, 

And  all  men  fail  afleep, 
Then  came  the  fpirit  of  fair  Margaret, 

And  flood  at  Williams  bed  feet. 

God  give  you  joy,  you  true  lovers, 

In  bride- bed  faft  afleep  ; 
Lo  !  I  am  going  to  my  grafs-green  grave, 

And  I  am  in  my  winding  meet. 

When  day  was  come,  and  night  was  gone, 

And  all  men  wak'd  from  fleep, 
Sweet  William  to  his  lady  faid, 

My  dear,  I've  caufc  to  weep. 

I  dream 'd 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

I  dream'd  a  dream,  my  dear  lady, 

Such  dreams  are  never  good  ; 
I  dream'd  my  bower  was  full  of  red  fwine, 

And  my  bride- bed  full  of  blood. 

Such  dreams,  fuch  dreams,  my  honour'd  fir, 

They  never  do  prove  good  ; 
To  dream  thy  bower  was  full  of  fwine, 

And  thy  bride-bed  full  of  blood. 

He  called  his  merry  men  all, 

By  one,  by  two,  and  by  three, 
Saying,  I'll  away  to  fair  Margarets  bower, 

By  the  leave  of  my  lady. 

And  when  he  came  to  fair  Margarets  bower, 

He  knocked  at  the  ring ; 
So  ready  were  her  feven  brethren, 

To  let  fweet  William  in. 

Then  he  turn'd  up  the  covering-fheet, 

Pray  let  me  fee  the  dead  ; 
Methinks  (he  looks  both  pale  and  wan, 

She  has  loll  her  cherry  red. 

I'll  do  more  for  thee,  Margaret, 

Than  any  of  thy  kin  ; 
For  I  will  kifs  thy  pale  wan  lips, 

Though  a  fmile  I  cannot  win. 


With 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  19, 

With  that  befpoke  the  feven  brethren, 

Making  moft  piteous  moan, 
You  may  go  kifs  your  jolly  brown  dame, 

And  let  our  fifter  alone. 

If  I  do  kifs  my  jolly  brown  dame,        f 

I  do  but  what  is  right ; 
For  I  made  no  vow  to  your  fifter  dear, 

By  day,  nor  yet  by  night. 

Pray  tell  me,  then,  how  much  you'll  deal, 

Of  white  bread  and  your  wine  : 
So  much  as  is  dealt  at  her  funeral  to-day, 

To-morrow  mail  be  dealt  at  mine. 

Fair  Margaret  died  to-day,  to-day, 

Sweet  William  he  died  the  morrow ; 
Fair  Margaret  died  for  pure  true  love, 

Sweet  William  he  died  for  forrow. 

Margaret  was  buried  in  the  lower  chancel, 

And  William  in  the  higher ; 
Out  of  her  breaft  there  fprang  a  rofe, 

And  out  of  his  a  briar. 

They  grew  as  high  as  the  church-top, 

Till  they  could  grow  no  higher ; 
And  there  they  grew  in  a  true  lovers  knot. 

Which  made  all  the  people  admire. 

n  Then 

VOL.  II.  ° 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

Then  came  the  clerk  of  the  parifli, 

As  you  this  truth  (hall  hear, 
And  by  misfortune  cut  them  down, 

Or  they  had  now  been  there. 


BALLAD    III. 
B4VEMANS    r  R  A  G  E  D  T.* 

YO  U  dainty  dames  fo  finely  fram'd 
Of  beautys  chiefeft  mold, 
And  you  that  trip  it  up  and  down, 

Like  lambs  in  Cupids  fold, 
Here  is  a  leflbn  to  be  learn'd ; 

A  leflbn,  in  my   mind, 
For  fuch  as  will  prove  falfe  in  love, 
And  bear  a  faithlefs  mind. 

Not  far  from  Nottingham,  of  late, 

In  Clifton,   as  I  hear, 
There  dwelt  a  fair  and  comely  dame, 

For  beauty  without  peer  ; 
Her  cheeks  were  like  the  crimfon-rofe ; 

Yet,  as  you  may  perceive, 
The  faireft  face,   the  falfeft  heart, 

And  fooneft  will  deceive. 

*  The  full  title  of  the  old  copy  is,  "  A  Godly  Warning  to  all  Maiden  J, 
by  the  Example  of  God's  Judgment  fhewed  on  ferman's  Wife  of  Clifton, 
in  the  County  of  Nottingham,  who,  lying  in  child-bed  was  born  away, 
and  never  heard  of  after."  A  tragedy,  intitled  The  Vow  breaker,  written 
by  one  William  Sampfon,  and  printed  in  1636,  is  founded  on  this  ballad, 
and  quotei  two  or  three  verfes  from  it,  as  *f  a  lamentable  new  ditty." 

This 


A  N  C  I  E  N  T    B  A  L  L  A  D  S.  195 

This  gallant  dame  me  was  belov'd 

Of  many  in  that  place  ; 
And  many  fought,  in  marriage-bed, 

Her  body  to  embrace  : 
At  laft  a  proper  handfome  youth, 

Young  Bateman  call'd  by  name, 
In  hopes  to  make  a  married  wife, 

Unto  this  maiden  came. 

Such  love  and  liking  there  was  found, 

That  he,  from  all  the  reft, 
Had  ftol'n  away  the  maidens  heart, 

And  file  did  love  him  beft  : 
Then  plighted  promiie  fecretly 

Did  pafs  between  them  two, 
That  nothing  could,  but  death  itfelf, 

This  true  loves  knot  undo. 

He  brake  a  piece  of  gold  in  twain, 

One  half  to  her  he  gave ; 
The  other,  as  a  pledge,  quoth  he, 

Dear  heart,  myfelf  will  have. 
If  I  do  break  my  vow,  quoth  me, 

While  I  remain  alive, 
May  never  thing  I  take  in  hand 

Be  feen   at  all  to  thrive. 

This  parted  on   for  two  months  fpace, 

And  then  this  maid  began 
To  fettle  love  and  liking  too 

Upon  another  man  : 

O  2  ® 


196  ANCIENT    BALLAD  5. 

One  Jerman,  who  a  widower  was, 

Her  hufband  needs  muft  be, 
Becaufe  he  was  of  greater  wealth, 

And  better  in  degree. 

Her  vows  and  promife  lately  made 

To  Bateman  fhe  denied  ; 
And  in  defpite  of  him  and  his 

She  utterly  defied. 
Well  then,  quoth  he,  if  it  be  fo, 

That  you  will  me  forfake, 
And,  like  a  falfe  and  forfworn  wretch, 

Another  hufband  take, 

Thou  fhalt  not  live  one  quiet  hour, 

For  furely  I  will  have 
Thee,  either  now  alive,  or  dead, 

When  I  am  laid  in  grave  : 
Thy  faithlefs  mind  thou  malt  repent;. 

Therefor  be   well  aflur'd, 
When,  for  thy  fake,   thou  hear'ft  report 

What  torments  I  endur'd. 

But  mark  how  Bateman  died  for  love-, 

And  finifh'd  up  his  life, 
That  very  day  (he  married  was, 

And  made  old  Jermans  wife  ; 
For  with  a  ftrangling-cord,  God  wot,. 

Great  moan  was   made   therefor, 
He  hang'd  himfelf,  in  defperate  fort, 

Before  the  brides  own  door. 


Wkereat 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  i97 

Whereat  fuch  forrow  pierc'd  her  heart, 

And  troubled  fore  her  mind, 
That  fhe  could  never,  after  that, 

One  day  of  comfort  find  ; 
And  wherefoever  fhe  did  go, 

Her  fancy  did   furmife, 
Young  Batemans  pale  and  ghaftly  ghoft 

Appear'd  before  her  eyes. 

When  fhe   in  bed  at  night  did  lie, 

Betwixt  her  hufbands  arms, 
In  hope  thereby  to  fleep  and  reft 

In   fafety  without  harms  ; 
Great  cries,  and  grievous  groans  fhe  heard, 

A  voice  that  fometimes  faid, 
O   thou  art  fhe  that  I   muft  have, 

And  will  not  be  denied. 

But  fhe  being  big  with  child, 

Was,   for  the  infants  fake, 
Preferved  from  the  fpirits  power, 

No  vengeance  could  it  take  : 
The  babe   unborn   did  fafely  keep. 

As   God  appointed  fo, 
His  mothers   body  from  the  fiend, 

That  fought  her  overthrow. 

But  being  of  her  burden  eas'd, 

And   fafely  brought  to   bed, 
Her  care  and  grief  began  ane\V, 

And  farther  forrow  bred : 

O  3  And 


198  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

And  of  her  friends  fhe   did  intreat, 

Defiring  them  to  ftay ; 
Out  of  the  bed,  quoth  fhe,   this   night, 

I  lhall  be  born  away. 

Here  comes  the  fpirit  of  my  love, 

With  pale  and  ghaftly  face, 
Who  till   he  bear  me  hence  away, 

Will  not  depart  this  place  ; 
Alive  or  dead  I  am  his  by   right, 

And  he  will  furely   have, 
In  fpite   of  me,   and  all  the  world, 

What  I  by  promife  gave. 

O   watch  with  me  this   night,  I  pray  j 

And  fee  you  do  not  fleep ; 
No  longer  than  you  be  awake 

My  body  can  you   keep. 
All  promifed  to  do  their  beft  j 

Yet   nothing   could  fuffice 
In  middle  of  the  night  to  keep 

Sad  flumber  from  their  eyes. 

So  being   all   full  faft  afleep, 

To  them  unknown  which   way, 
The  child-bed-woman,  that  woeful  night, 

From  thence  was  born   away ; 
And  to  what  place  no   creature  knew, 

Nor  to  this  day   can    tell  ; 
As  ftrange  a  thing  as   ever  yet 

In  any  age  befell. 


You 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

You  maidens   that  defire  to  love, 

And  would  good  hufbands  choofe, 
To  him  that  you  do  vow  to  love, 

By  no  means  do  refufe: 
For  God,  that  hears   all  fecret  oaths, 

Will  dreadful  vengeance  take 
On  fuch  that  of  a  wilful  vow 

Do  flender  reckoning  make. 


BALLAD    IV. 
THE    WANDERING   PRINCE  OF   TROY. 

WHEN  Troy  town,  for  ten  years  wars, 
Withftood  the  Greeks  in  manful  wife, 
Then  did  their  foes  encreafe  fo  faft, 
That  to  refift  none  could  fuffice  : 
Wafte  lie  thofe  walls  that  were  fo  good, 
And  corn  now  grows  where  Troy  town  Hood. 

.&neas,  wandering  prince  of  Troy, 
When  he  for  land  long  time  had  fought, 

At  length,  arrived  with  great  joy, 

To  mighty  Carthage  walls  was  brought; 

Where  Dido  queen,  with  fumptuous  feail, 

Did  entertain  this  wandering  gueft. 


And, 


200  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

And,  as  in  hall  at   meat  they  fat, 
The  queen,  defirous  news    to  hear, 

"  Of  thy  unhappy  ten  years  wars, 
Declare  to  me  thou  Trojan  dear  : 

The  heavy  hap,  and  chance  fo  bad, 

Which  thou,  poor  wandering;   prince,  haft  had.'* 

• 

And  then,  anon,  this  comely  knight, 
With  words  demure,  as  he  could  well, 

Of  his  unhappy  ten  years  wars 
So  true  a  tale  began   to  tell, 

With   words  fo  fweet,  and  fighs  fo  deep, 

That  oft  he  made  them  all  to  weep. 

And  then  a  thoufand  fighs  he   fetch'd, 
And  every  figh  brought  tears  amain  ; 

That  where  he  fate  the  place  was  wet, 
As  he  had  feen  thofe  wars  again ; 

So  that  the  queen,  with  ruth  therefor, 

Said,  worthy  prince,  enough,  no  more. 


The  darkfome  night  apace  grew  on, 

And  twinkling  ftars  in   ikies  were  fpread; 

And  he  his  doleful  tale  had  told, 
And  every  one  was  laid   in  bed  ; 

Where  they  full  fweetly  took  their  reft, 

Save  only  Didos  boiling  breaft. 


This 


A  N  C  I  E  N  T .    B  A  L  L  A  D  S.  2O| 

This  filly  woman  never  flept, 

But  in  her  chamber,  all  alone, 
As  one  unhappy,  always  wept, 

And  to  the  walls  me  made  her  moan; 
That  fhe  mould  ftill  defire  in  vain 
The  thing  that  {he  could  not  obtain. 

And  thus  in  grief  Hie  fpent  the  night, 
Till  twinkling  liars  from  fky  were  fled, 

And  Phoebus,  with  his  glittering  beams. 
Through  mifty  clouds  appeared  red ; 

Then  tidings  came   to  her  anon, 

That  all  the  Trojan  fhips  were  gone. 


And  then  the  queen,  with  bloody  knife, 
Did  arm  her  heart  as  hard  as  Hone, 

Yet,  fomewhat  loth  to  lofe  her  life, 
In  woeful  wife  fhe  made  her  moan  ; 

And,  rolling  on  her  careful  bed, 

With  fighs  and  fobs,  thefe  words  Ihe  faid : 


O  wretched  Dido  queen  !  quoth  fhe, 

I  fee  thy  end  approaching  near  ; 
For  he  is  gone  away  from  thee, 

Whom  thou  did'ft  love,  and  held  fo  dear: 
Is  he  then  gone,  and  paffed  by  ? 
O  heart,  prepare  thyfelf  to  die. 

Though 


Z  A  N  €  I  E  N  't  '   B  A  L  L  A  D  S. 

Though  Reafon  would  thou  fhould'ft  forbear, 
And  Hay  thy  hand  from  bloody  ftroke ; 

Yet  Fancy  fays  thou  fhould'ft  not  fear, 
Who  fettereth  thee  in  Cupids  yoke. 

Come  death,  quoth  fhe,  refolve  my  fmart  :— 

And,  with  thefe  words,  fhe  pierc'd  her  heart. 


When  Death  had  pierc'd  the  tender  heart, 
Of  Didoj  Carthaginian  queen  ; 

And  bloody  knife  did  end  the  fmart, 
Which  fhe  fuflain'd  in  woeful  teen  ; 

.ffineas  being  fhipp'd  and  gone, 

Whofe  flattery  caufed  all  her  moan  j 


Her  funeral  moft   coftly  made, 

And  all  things  furnifli'd  mournfully  ; 

Her  body  fine  in  mold  was  laid, 
Where  it  confumed  fpeedily  : 

Her  fillers  tears  her  tomb  beftrew'd  ; 

Her  fubjedls  grief  their  kindnefs  fhew'd. 


Then  was  JEne&s  in  an  ifle, 

In  Grecia,  where  he  liv'd  long  fpace, 
Whereas  her  fifler,  in  fhort  while, 

Writ  to  him   to  his  vile  difgrace  ; 
In  phrafe  of  letters  to  her  mind, 
She  told  him  plain  he  was  unkind.  . 


Falfe- 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

Falfe -hearted  wretch,  quoth  {he,  them  art  j 
And  treacherously  thou  haft  betray'd 

Unto  thy  lure  a  gentle  heart, 

Which   unto   thee  fuch   welcome  madej 

My  fitter  dear,  and  Carthage  joy, 

Whofe  folly  wrought  her  dire  annoy. 


Yet,  on  her  death-bed  when  me  lay, 

She  pray'd  for  thy  profperity, 
Befeeching  Heaven,  that  every  day 

Might  breed  thy  great  felicity: 
Thus,  by  thy  means  I  loft  a  friend  ; 
Heaven  fend  thee  fuch  untimely  end. 

When  he  thefe  lines,  full  fraught  with  gall, 
Perufed  had,  and  weigh'd  them  right, 

His  lofty  courage  then  did  fall, 
And  ftraight  appeared  in  his  fight 

Queen  Didos  ghoft,  both  grim  and  pale  ; 

Which  made  this  gallant  foldier  quail. 


s,  quoth,  this  grifly  ghoft,  ^ 
My  whole  delight  while  I  did  live, 
Thee  of  all  men  I  loved  moft  ; 
My  fancy  and  my  will  did  give: 
For  entertainment  I  thee  gave, 
Unthankfully  thou  dig'ft  my 


Therefor 


204  AN  CIENT    BALLADS. 

Therefor  prepare  thy  fleeting  foul 

To  wander  with  me  in  the  air  ; 
Where  deadly  grief  fhall  make  it  howl, 

Becaufe  of  me  thou  took'ft  no  care  : 
Delay  no  time,  thy  glafs  is  run, 
Thy  day  is  pafs'd,  thy  death  is  come. 


O  flay  a  while,  thou  lovely  fprite  ; 

Be  not  fo  hafly  to  convey 
My  foul  into  eternal  night. 

Where  it  mall  ne'er  behold  bright  day. 
O  do  not  frown, — thy  angry  look 
Hath  made  my  breath  my  life  forfook. 


Bot,  woe  to  me  !  it  is  in  vain, 
And  bootlefs  is  my  difmal  cry  ; 

Time  will  not  be  recall'd  again, 
Nor  thou  furceafe  before  I  die : 

0  let  me  live,   to  make  amends 
Unto  fome  of  thy  deareft  friends. 

But,  feeing  thou  obdurate  art, 
And  wilt  no  pity  to  me  mow, 

Becaufe  from  thee  I  did  depart, 
And  left  unpaid  what  I  did  owe, 

1  muft  content  myfelf  to  take 
What  lot  thoa  wilt  with  me  partake. 


And 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  205 

And  like  one  being  in  a  trance, 

A  multitude  of  ugly  fiends 
About  this  woeful  prince  did  dance, 

No  help  he  had  of  any  friends ; 
His  body  then  they  took  away, 
And  no  man  knew  his   dying  day. 


BALLAD      V. 

THE  SPANISH  LADYS  LOVE. 

WILL   you  hear  a  Spanifh  lady, 
How  fhe  woo'd  an  Englifh  man  ? 
Garments  gay  as  rich  as  may  be 
Deck'd  with  jewels  had  fhe  on  : 
Of  a  comely  countenance  and  grace  was  me, 
Both  by  birth  and  parentage  of  high  degree. 

As  his  prifoner  there  he  kept  her, 

In  his  hands  her  life  did  lie ; 
Cupids  bands  did  tie  them  fafter, 

By  the  liking  of  an  eye. 
In  his  courteous  company  was  all  her  joy, 
To  favour  him  in  any  thing  fhe  was  not  coy. 

But  at  laft  there  came  commandment 

For  to  fet  all  ladies  free, 
With  their  jewels  flill  adorned, 

None  to  do  them  injury. 
O,  then  faid  this  lady  gay,  full  woe  is  me ! 
O  let  me  ftill  fuftain  this  kind  captivity! 

Gallant 


206  ANCIENT    BALLADS, 

Gallant  captain,  mow  fome  pity 

To  a  lady  in  diftrefs  ; 
Leave  me  not  within  this  city, 

For  to  die  in  heavinefs : 
Thou  haft  fet,  this  prefent  day,  my  body  free, 
But  my  heart  in  prifon  ftill  remains  with  thee. 

"  How   fhould'ft  thou,  fair  lady,  love  me, 

Whom  thou  know'ft  thy  eountrys  foe  P 
Thy  fair  words  make  me  fufpedl  thee  ; 

Serpents  lie  where  flowers  grow." 
All  the  harm  I  wifh  on  thee,  moft  courteous  knight, 
God  grant  upon  my  head  the  fame  may  fully  light. 


Blefled  be  the  time  and  feafon, 

That  thou  came  on  SpaniQi  ground  ; 
If  you  may  our  foes  be  termed, 

Gentle  foes  we  have  you  found  : 
With  our  city,  you  have  won  our  hearts  each  one, 
Then  to  your  country  bear  away  that  is  your  own. 


"  Reft  you  ftill,  moft  gallant  lady  ; 

Reft  you  ftill  and  weep  no  more  ; 
Of  fair  flowers  you  have  plenty, 

Spain  doth  yield  you  wonderous  ftore."— 
Spaniards  fraught  with  jealoufy  we  oft  do  find, 
But  Englishmen  throughout  the  world  are  counted  kind. 

Leave 


ANCIENT    B  A  H  A  D  S. 

Leave  me  not  unto  a  Spaniard, 

Thou  alone  enjoy'ft  my  heart ; 
I  am  lovely,  young,  and  tender, 

Love  is  likewife  my  defert : 
Still  to  ferve  thee  day  and  night  my  mind  is  preft ; 
The  wife  of  every  Englilhman  is  counted  blefs'd. 


' *  It  would  be  a  fliame,  fair  lady, 

For  to  bear  a  woman  hence  ; 
Englifh  foldiers  never  carry 

Any  fuch  without  offence." 
I  will  quickly  change  myfelf,  if  it  be  fo, 
And  like  a  page  will  follow  thee,  where'er  thou  go. 


"  I  have  neither  gold  nor  filver 
To  maintain  thee  in  this  cafe, 
And  to  travel  is  great  charges, 

As  you  know,  in  every  place." 
My  chains  and  jewels  everyone  mail  be  thy  own, 
And  eke  ten  ihoufand  pounds  in  gold  that  lies  unknown. 

"  On  the  feas  are  many  dangers, 

Many  dorms  do  there  arife, 
Which  will  be  to  ladies  dreadful, 

And  force  tears  from  watery  eyes." 
Well  in  troth  I  mail  endure  extremity, 
For  I  could  find  in  heart  to  lofemy  life  for  thee. 

«'  Courwou* 


ANCMENT    BALLADS. 

"  Courteous  lady,    leave  this  folly, 

Here  comes  all  that  breeds  the  ftrife  ; 
I,  in  England,  have  already 

A  fweet  woman  to  my  wife  ; 
I  will  not  falfify  my  vow  for  gold  nor  gain, 
Nor  yet  for  all  the  faireft  dames  that  live  in  Spain." 


O  how  happy  is  that  woman 

That  enjoys  fo  true  a  friend! 
Many  happy  days  God  fend  her  ; 

And  of  my  fuit  I'll  make  an  end  : 
On  my  knees  I  pardon  crave  for  my  offence, 
Which  love  and  true  affeftion  did  firft  commence. 


Commend  me  to  that  gallant  lady, 
Bear  to  her  this  chain  of  gold, 
With  thefe  bracelets,  for  a  token  ; 

Grieving  that  I  was  fo  bold  : 
All  my  jewels,  in  like  fort,  take  thou  with  thee ; 
For  they  are  fitting  for  thy  wife,  but  not  for  me. 


I  will  fpend  my  days  in  prater, 

Love  and  all  her  laws  defy  ; 
In  a  nunnery  I  will  fhroud  me, 

Far  from  any  company  : 

But,  ere  my  prayers  have  an  end,  be  fure  of  this, 
To  pray  for  thee  and  for  thy  love  I  will  not  mifs. 


Thus 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

Thus  farewell,  moft  gallant  captain  ! 

Farewell  to  my  hearts  content  ! 
Count  not  Spaniih  ladies  wanton, 

Though  to  thee  ray  mind  was  bent : 
Joy  and  true  profperity  go  flill  with  thee ! 
"  The  like  fall  unto  thy  (hare,  moft  fair  lady." 


BALLAD  VI. 
THE   LADYS   FALL. 

MARK  well  my  heavy  doleful  tale, 
You  loyal  lovers  all, 
And  heedfully  bear  in  your  breaft 

A  gallant  ladys  fall. 
Long  was  ftie  woo'd,  ere  fhe  was  won 

To  tafte  a  wedded  life, 
But  folly  wrought  her  overthrow, 
Before  fhe  was  a  wife. 

Too  foon,  alas  !  fhe  gave  confent 

To  yield  unto  his  will, 
Though  he  protefted  to  be  true, 

And  faithful  to  her  ftill. 
She  felt  her  body  alter'd  quite, 

Her  bright  hue  waxed  pale, 
Her  fair  red  cheeks  turn'd  colour  white, 

Her  ftrength  began  to  fail. 

VOL.  II.  P 


209 


So, 


So  that,  with  many  a  forrowful  figh, 

This  beauteous  maiden  mild, 
With  grievous  heart,  perceiv'd  herfelf 

To  have  cdnceiv'd  with  child. 
She  kept  it  from  her  fathers  fight, 

As  clofe  as  clofe  might  be, 
And  fo  put  on  her  filken  gown, 

None  might  her  fwelling  fee. 

Unto  her  lover,  fecretly, 

Her  grief  (he  did  bewray, 
And,  walking  with  him  hand  in   hand, 

Thefe  words  to  him  did  fay  ; 
Behold,  faid  me,  a   maids  diftrefs, 

By  love  reduc'd  to  woe, 
Behold  I  go  with  child  by  thee, 

But  none  thereof  doth  know. 

The  little  babe  fprings  in  my  womb, 

To  hear  the  fathers  voice, 
Let  it  not  be  a  baftard  calPd, 

Sith  I  made  thee  my  choice : 
Come,  come,  my  love,  perform  thy  vow, 

And  wed  me  out  of  hand  ; 
O  leave  me  not  in  this  extreme, 

In  grief  always  to  ftand  ! 

Think  on  thy  former  promife  made, 

Thy  vows  and  oaths  each  one  ; 
Remember  with  what  bitter  tears 

To  me  thou  mad'ft  thy  moan. 

Convey 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  211 

Convey  me  to  fome  fecret  place, 

And  marry  me  with  fpeed  ; 
Or  with  thy  rapier  end  my  life, 

Ere  further  fhame  proceed. 

4| 
Alas !  my  deareft  love,  quoth  he, 

My  greateft  joy  on  earth, 
Which  way  can  I  convey  thee  hence, 

Without   a  fudden  death  ? 
Thy  friends  they  be  of  high  degree, 

And  I  of  mean  eftate ; 
Full  hard  it  is  to  get  thee  forth 

Out  of  thy  fathers  gate. 

Oh  !  do  not  fear  to  fave  my  fame, 

For  if  thou  taken  be, 
Myfelf  will  ftep  between  the  fwords, 

And  take  the  harm  on  me : 
So  mail  I  fcape  dishonour  quite; 

And  if  I  mould  be  flain, 
What  could  they  fay,  but  that  true  love, 

Had  wrought  a  ladys  bane  ? 

And  fear  not  any  further  harm  j 

Myfelf  will  fodevife, 
That  I  will  ride  away  with  thee, 

Unfeen  of  mortal  eyes  : 
Difguifed  like  fome  pretty  page, 

I'll   meet  thee  in  the  dark, 
And  all   alone  I'll  come  to  thee, 

Hard  by  my  fathers  park. 


212  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

And  there,  quoth  he,  I'll   meet   thee, 

If  God  fo  lend   me  life,    , 
And  this  day  month,  without  all  fail, 

I  will  make  thee   my   wife. 
Then,  with  a  fweet  and  loving  kifs, 

They  parted  prefently, 
And  at  their  parting  briniih  tears 

Stood  in  each  others  eye. 

At  length  the  wiuVd-for  day  was  come, 

On  which  this  beauteous  maid, 
With  lovely  eyes,   and  ftrange  attire, 

For  her  true  lover  ftay'd  : 
When  any  perfon   fhe  efpied 

Come  riding  o'er  the  plain, 
She  thought  it  was  her  own  true  love, 

But  all  her  hopes  were  vain. 

Then  did  fhe  weep,  and  fore  bewail 

Her  moft  unhappy  ftate  ; 
Then  did  fhe  fpeak  thefe  woeful  words, 

When  fuccourlefs  fhe  fate  : 
O  falfe,  forfworn,  and  faithlefs  wretch, 

Disloyal  to  thy  love, 
Haft  thou  forgot  thy  promife  made, 

And  wilt  thou  perjur'd  prove  ? 

And  haft  thou  now  forfaken  me, 

In  this  my  great  diftrefs, 
To  end  my  days  in  open  fhame, 

Which  thou  might'ft  well  redrefs  ? 

Woe 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  113 

Woe  worth  the  time  I  did  believe 

That  flattering  tongue  of  thine  ; 
Would  God  that  I  had  never  feea 

The  tears  of  thy  falfe  eyne  ! 

And  thus,  with  many  a  forrowful  figh, 

Homewards  fhe  went  again  ; 
No  reft  came  in  her  watery  eyes, 

She  felt  fuch  bitter  pain. 
In  travail  ftrong  me  fell  that  night, 

With  many  a  bitter  throe  ; 
What  woeful  pangs  me  then  did  fed, 

Doth  each  good  woman  know. 

She  called  up  her  waiting  maid, 

That  lay  at  her  beds  feet, 
Who,  muling  at  her  miftrefs'  woe, 

Did  ftraight  begin  to  weep. 
Weep  not,  faid  toe,  but  tout  the  door, 

And  windows  round  about, 
Let  none  bewail  my  wretched  ftate, 

But  keep  all  perfons  out. 

O  miftrefs,  call  your  mother  dear, 

Of  women  you  have  need, 
And  of  fome  fcilful  midwifes  help, 

That  better  you  may  fpeed. 
Call  not  my  mother,  for  thy  life, 

Nor  call  the  women  here, 
The  midwifes  help  comes  all  too  late, 

My  death  I  do  not  fear.  w_ 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

With  that  the  babe  fprang  in  her  womb, 

No  creature  being  nigh, 
And  with  a  figh,  which  brake  her  heart, 

This  gallant  dame  did  die. 
This  living  little  infant  young, 

The  mother  being  dead, 
Refign'd  his  new  received  breath 

To  him  that  had  him  made. 

Next  morning  came  her  lover  true, 

Affrighted  at  this  news, 
And  he  for  forrow   flew  himfelf, 

Whom  each  one  did  accufe. 
The  mother  with  the  new-born  babe, 

Were  both  laid  in  one  grave  : 
Their  parents  overcome  with  woe, 

No  joy  of  them  could  have. 

Take  heed,  you  dainty  damfels  all, 

Of  flattering  words  beware, 
And  of  the  honour  of  your  names 

Have  you  a  fpecial  care. 
Too-true,  alas  !  this  ftory  is, 

As  many  one  can  tell : 
By  others  harms  learn  to  be  wife, 

And  you  fhall  do^full  well, 


BALLAD 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  215 

BALLAD     VII. 
LITTLE  MUSGRAVE  AND  LADY  BARNARD. 

AS  it  fell  one  holyday, 
As  many  be  in  the  year, 
When  young  men  and  maids  together  did  go 
Their  mattes  and  matins  to  hear; 

Little  Mufgrave  came  to  the  church  door, 

The  prieft  he  was  at  mafs ; 
But  he  had  more  mind  of  the  fair  women, 

Than  he  had  of  our  ladys  grace. 

The  one  of  them  was  clad  in  green, 

The  other  was  clad  in  pall  ; 
And  then  came  in  my  lord  Barnards  wife, 

The  faireit  among  them  all. 

She  caft  an  eye  on  little  Mufgrave, 

As  bright  as  the  fummer  fun : 
O  then  bethought  this  little  Mufgrave, 

This  ladys  heart  I  have  won. 
Quoth  flie,  Ihavelov'dthee,  little  Mufgrave, 

Full  long  and  many  a  day, 
So  have  I  loved  you,  lady  fair, 
Yet  word  I  never  durft  fay. 

p4  hive 


2i6  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

I  have  a  bower  at  Bucklesford-Bury, 

Full  daintily  bedight, 
If  them  wilt  wend  thither,  my  little  Mufgrave, 

Thouft  lig  in  mine  arms  all  night. 

Quoth  he,  I  thank  ye,  lady  fair, 
This   kindnefs  you  mow  to  me  ; 

And  whether  it  be  to  my  weal  or  woe. 
This  night  will  I  lig  with  thee. 

All  this  was  heard  by  a  little  tiny  page, 
By  his  ladys  coach   as  he   ran  : 

Quoth  he,  though  I  am  my  ladys  page, 
Yet  I  am  my  lord  Barnards  man. 

My  lord  Barnard  mall   know   of  this, 

Although  I  lofe  a  limb, 
And  ever  whereas  the  bridges  were  broke, 

He  laid  him   down  to  fwim. 

A  deep  or  awake,  thou  lord  Barnard, 
As  thou  art  a  man  of  life,  , 

For  little  Mufgrave  is  at  Bucklebford-Bury, 
A-bed  with  thine  own  wedded  wife. 

If  this  be  true,  thon  little  tiny  page, 

This  thing  thou  tell'ft  to  me, 
Then  all  the  land  in  Bucklesford-Bury, 

I  freely  give  to  thee. 


But 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  2,7 

But  if't  be  a  lye,  thou  little  tiny  page, 

This  thing  thou  tell'ft  to  me, 
On  the  higheft  tree  in  Bucklesford-Bury, 

Then  hanged  malt  thou   be. 

He  called  up  his  merry  men  all, 

Come  faddle  me  my  fteed  ; 
This  night  muft  I  to  Bucklesford-Bury  ; 

For  I  never  had  greater  need. 

And  fome  of  them  whittled,  and  fome  of  them  fung, 

And  fome  thefe  words  did  fay, 
And  ever  when  as  the  lord  Earnards  horn  blew, 

Away,  thou  little  Mufgrave,  away, 

Methinks  I  hear  the  throttle  cock, 

Methinks  I  hear  the  jay, 
Methinks  I  hear  my  lord  Barnards  horn  ; 

And  I  would  I  were  away. 

Lie  ftill,  lie  ftill,  thou  little  Mufgrave,  , 

And  huggle  me  from   the  cold  ; 
JTis  nothing  but  a  mepherds  boy, 

A  driving  his  fheep  to  fold. 

Is  not  thy  hawk  upon  the  perch? 

Thy  fteed  eats  oats  and  hay  ? 
And  thy  fair  lady  in  thine  arms  ; 

And  would'it  thou  be  away  ? 


With 


2i8  ANCIENT    BALLADS, 

With  that  my  lord  Barnard  came  to  the  door1, 

And  lighted  upon  a  flone  ; 
He  plucked  out  three  filver  keys, 

And  opened  the  doors  each  one. 

He  lifted  up  the  coverlet, 

He  lifted  up  the  Iheet  ; 
How  now,  how  now,  thou  little  Mufgrave, 

Doft  find  my  lady  fo  fweet  ? 

I  find  her  fweet,  quoth  little  Mufgrave, 

The  more   'tis  to  my  pain  ; 
I  would  gladly  give  thce  three  hundred  pounds 

That  I  were  on  yonder  plain. 

Arife,  arife,  thou  little  Mufgrave, 

And  put  thy  clothes  on, 
It  fhall  never  be  faid  in  my  country, 

That  I  killed  a  naked  man. 

I  have  two  fwords  in  one  fcabbard, 

Full  dear  they  coft  my  purfe, 
And  thou  fhalt  have  the  beft  of  them, 
And  1  will  have  the  worfe. 

The  firft  ftroke  that  little  Mufgrave  (truck, 

He  hurt  lord  Barnard  fore  ; 
The  next  ftrcke  that  lord  Barnard  ftruck, 

Little  Mufgrave  ne'er  ftruck  more. 


With 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  ,Ig 

With  that  befpake  the  lady  fair," 

In  bed  whereas  (he  lay, 
Although  th'  art  dead,  thou  little  Mufgrave, 

Yet  I  for  thee  will  pray  : 

And  wifh  well  to  thy  foul  will  I, 

So  long  as  I  have  life; 
So  will  not  I  do  for  thee,  Barnard, 

Though  I  am  thy  wedded  wife. 

He  cut  her  paps  from  off  her  breafts ; 

Great  pity  it  was  to  fee, 
Some  drops  of  this  fair  ladys  heart  blood 

Ran  trickling  down  her  knee. 

Woe  worth  you,  woe  worth,  my  merry  men  all, 

You  never  were  born  for  my  good  ; 
Why  did  you  not  offer  to  ftay  my  hand, 

When  you  '  faw'  me  wax  fo  wood  ? 

For  I  have  {lain  the  braveft  fir  knight, 

That  ever  rode  on  a  Heed  j 
So  have  I  done  the  faireft  lady, 

That  ever  did  womans  deed. 

A  grave,  a  grave,  lord  Barnard  cried, 

To  put  thefe  lovers  in  ; 
But  lay  my  lady  o'  th'  upper  hand, 
For  fhe  came  o'  th'  better  kin, 

BALLAD 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

BALLAD    VIII. 
FAIR     ROSAMOND. 

WH  E  N  as  king  Henry  rul'd  this  land, 
The  fecond  of  that  name, 
Befides  the  queen,  he  dearly  lov'd, 

A  fair  and  comely  dame  : 
Moft  peerlefs  was  her  beauty  found, 

Her  favour,  and  her  face  ; 
A  fweeter  creature  in  this  world 
Did  never  prince  embrace. 

Her  crifped  locks  like  threads  of  gold 

Appear'd  to  each  mans  fight ; 
Her  fparkling  eyes,  like  Orient  pearls, 

Did  call  a  heavenly  light  : 
The  blood  within  her  cryftal  cheeks 

Did  fuch  a  colour  drive, 
As  if  the  lily  and  the  roie 

For  mafterfhip  did  ftrive. 

Yea  Rofamond,  fair  Rofamond, 

Her  name  was  called  fo, 
To  whom  dame  Eleanor,  our  queen, 

Was  known  a  deadly  foe. 


Tht 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

The  King  therefor,  for  her  defence 

Againft  the  furious  queen, 
At  Woodftock  builded  fuch  a  bower, 

The  like  was  never  feen. 


Moft  curiously  that  bower  was  built, 

Of  ftone  and  timber  ftrong, 
One  hundered  and  fifty  doors 

Did  to  this  bower  belong: 
And  they  fo  cunningly  contriv'd, 

With  turnings  round  about, 
That  none,  but  with  a  clew  of  thread, 

Could  enter  in  or  out. 


And,  for  his  love  and  ladys  fake, 

That  was  fo  fair  and  bright, 
The  keeping  of  this  bower  he  gave 

Unto  a  valiant  knight. 
But  Fortune,  that  doth  often  frown 

Where  fhe  before  did  fmile, 
The  kings  delight,  the  ladys  joy, 

Full  foon  fhe  did  beguile. 

For  why,  the  kings  ungracious  fon, 
Whom  he  did  high  advance, 

Againft  his  father  raifed  wars, 
Within  the  realm  of  France. 


Bu 


ANCIENT     BALLADS. 

But  yet  before  our  comely  king 

The  Engliih  land  forfook, 
O    Rofamond,  his  lady  fair, 

His  farewell  thus  he  took  : 


My  Rofamond,  my  only  Rofe, 

Tnat  pleafeft  bell  mine  eye, 
The  faireft  nower  in  all  the  world 

To  feed  my  f  antaly  : 
The  flower  of  my  affefted  heart, 

Whofe  fweetnefs  doth  excell: 
My   royal  Rofe,    a  thoufand  times 

I  bid  thee  now  farewell. 


For  I  mufl  leave  my  faireft  flower, 

My  ftveeteft  Rofe,  a  fpace, 
And  crofs  the  feas  to  famous  France, 

Proud  rebels  to  abafe. 
But  yet,  my  Rofe,  be  fure  thou  (halt 

My  coming  fhortly  fee, 
And  in  my  heart,  when  hence  I  am, 

I'll  bear  my  Rofe  with  me. 


When  Rofamond,  that  lady  bright, 
Did  hear  the  king  fay   fo, 

The  forrow  of  her  grieved  heart 
Her  outward  looks  did  (how  ; 


And 


ANCIENT    BALLADS."        1*3 

And  from  her  clear  and  cryftal  eyei 

Tears  gufhed  out  apace, 
Which,  like  the  filver- pearled  dew, 

Ran  down  her  comely  face. 


Her  lips,  erft  like  the  coral  red, 

Did  wax  both  wan  and  pale, 
And,  for  the  forrow  fhe  conceiv'd, 

Her  vital  fpirits  did  fail ; 
And  falling  down  all  in  a  fwoon, 

Before  king  Henry's  face, 
Full  oft  he  in  his  princely  arms 

Her  body  did  embrace  : 

And  twenty  times,  with  watery  eyes, 

He  kifs'd  her  tender  cheek,- 
Until  he  had  reviv'd  again 

Her  fenfes  mild  and  meek. 
Why  grieves  my  Rofe,  my  fweeteft  Rofe  ? 

The  king  did  often  fay. 
Becaufe,  quoth  (he,  to  bloody  wars 

My  lord  mufl  pafs  away. 

But  fince  your  grace,  on  foreign  coaib, 

Among  your  foes   unkind, 
Mull  go  to  hazard  life  and  limb, 

Why  mould  I  ftay   behind? 


Nay, 


224  ANCIENT    BALLADS, 

Nay,  rather,  let  me,  like  a  page, 

Your  fword  and  target  bear  ; 
That  on  my  breaft  the  blows  may  light, 

That  mould  offend  you  there. 


Or  let  me,  in  your  royal  tent, 

Prepare  your  bed  at  night, 
And  with  fweet  baths  refrefh  your  grace, 

At  your  return  from  fight. 
So  I  your  prefence  may  enjoy, 

No  toil  I  will  refufe  ; 
But  wanting  you,  my  life  is  death  ; 

Which  doth  true  love  abufe. 


Content  thyfelf,  my  deareft  love  ; 

Thy  reft  at  home  {hall  be  ; 
In  Englands  fweet  and  pleafant  foil  j 

For  travel  fits  not  thee. 
Fair  ladies  brook  not  bloody  wars  ; 

Sweet  peace  their  pleafures  breed  ; 
The   nourilher  of  hearts  content, 

Which  fancy  firfl  did  feed. 


My  Rofe  fhall  reft  in  Woodftock  bower. 

With  mufics  fweet  delight; 
Whilft  I,  among  the  piercing  pikes, 

Againft  my  foes  do  fight. 


A«N  CIENT    BALLADS.  225 

My  Rofe  in  robes  of  pearl  and  gold, 

With  diamonds  richly  dight, 
Shall  dance   the  galliards  of  my  love, 

While  I  my  foes  do  finite. 


And  you,  fir  Thomas,  whom  I  truft 

To  be  my  loves  defence, 
Be  careful  of  my  gallant  Rofe 

When  I   am  parted  hence. 
And  therewithall  he  fetch'd  a  figh, 

As  though  his  heart  would  break  ; 
And  Rofamond,  for  very  grief, 

Not  one  plain  word  could  fpeak. 

And  at  their  parting  well  they  might 

In  heart  be  grieved  fore ; 
After  that  day  fair  Rofamond 

The  king  did  fee  no  more. 
For  when  his  grace  had  pafs'd  the  feas, 

And  into  France  was  gone, 
Queen  Eleanor,  with  envious  heart, 

To  Woodftock  came  anon. 


And  forth  me  calls  this  trufly  knight, 

Who  kept  this  curious  bower; 
Who,  with  his  clew  of  twined  thread, 

Came  from  this  famous  flower. 

VOL,  II.  0,  *** 


2z6  ANCIENT    BALLADS, 

And  when  that  they  had  wounded  him, 

The  queen  this  thread  did  get, 
And  went  where  lady  Rofamond 

Was  like  an  angel  fet. 


But  when  the  queen  with  ftedfaft  eye 

Beheld  her  heavenly  face, 
She  was  amazed  in  her  mind 

At  her  exceeding  grace. 
Caft  off  from  thee  thefe  robes,  me  faid, 

That  rich  and  coftly   be  ; 
And  drink  thou  up  this  deadly  draught, 

Which  I  have  brought  to   thee. 


Then  prefently  upon  her  knees 

Sweet  Rofamond  did  fall ; 
And  pardon  of  the  queen  (he  crav'd 

For  her  offences  all. 
Take  pity  on  my  youthful  years, 

Fair  Rofamond  did  cry  ; 
And  let  me  not  with  poifon  ftrong 

Enforced  be  to  die. 

I  will  renounce  my  fmful  life, 
And  in  fome  cloifter  bide  ; 

Or  elfe  be  banilh'd,  if  you  pleafe, 
To  range  the  world  fo  wide. 


And 


A  N  C  I  EN  T    B  A  L  L  A  D  S.  227 

And   for  the  fault  which  I  have  done, 

Though  I  was  forc'd  thereto, 
Preferve  my  life,  and  punifh  me 

As  you  think  good  to  do. 


And,  with   thefe  words,  her  lily  hands 

She  wrung  full  often   there  ; 
And  down  along  her  lovely  face 

Proceeded  many   a  tear. 
But  nothing  could  this  furious  queen 

Therewith  appeafed  be; 
The  cup  of  deadly  poifon  ftrong, 

As  Ihe  fate  on  her  knee, 

She  gave  this  comely  dame  to  drink; 

Who  took  it  in  her  hand, 
And  from  her  bended  knee  arofe, 

And  on  her  feet  did  fland  : 
And  cafting  up  her  eyes  to  heaven, 

She  did  for  mercy  call  ; 
And  drinking  up  the  poifon  ftrong, 

Her  life  me  loft  withall. 


And  when  that  death  through  every  limb 

Had  mow'd  its  greateft  fpite, 
Her  chiefeft  foes  did  plain  confefs 

She  waa  a  glorious  wight. 


228  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

Her  body  then  they  did  entomb, 

When  life  was  fled  away, 
At  Woodftock,  near  to   Oxford  town, 

As  may  be  feen  this  day. 


BALLAD    IX. 
THE  LAMENTATION  OF  JANE  SHORE. 

IF  Rofamond,  that  was  fo  fair, 
Had  caufe  her  forrows  to  declare, 
Then  let  Jane  Shore  with  forrow  fing, 
That  was  beloved  of  a  king. 
Then  wanton  wives  in  time  amend, 
For  love  and  beauty  will  have  end. 

In  maiden  years  my  beauty  bright 
Was  loved  dear  of  lord  and  knight ; 
But  yet  the  love  that  they  requir'd, 
It  was  not  as  my  friends  defir'd. 

My  parents  they,  for  thirfl  of  gain, 
A  hufband  for  me  did  obtain  ; 
And   I,  their  pleafure  to  fulfil, 
Was  forc'd  to  wed   againft  my  will. 

To  Mathew  Shore  I  was  a  wife, 
Till  luft  brought  rurn  to  my  life ; 
And  then  my  life  I  lewdly  fpent, 
Which  makes  my   foul  for  to  lament. 

IK 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  229 

In  Lombard-ftreet  I  once  did  dwell, 
As  London  yet  can  witnefs  well  ; 
Where  many  gallants  did  behold 
My  beauty  in  a  /hop  of  gold. 

I  fpread  my  plumes  as  wantons  do, 
Some  fweet  and  fecret  friend  to  woo, 
Becaufe  my  love  I  did  not  find 
Agreeing  to  my  wanton  mind. 

At  laft  my  name  in  court  did  ring, 
Into  the  ears  of  Englands  king, 
Who  came  and  lik'd,  and  love  requir'd, 
But  t  made  coy  what  he  defir'd. 

Yet  miftrefs  Blague,  a  neighbour  near, 
Whofe  friendmip  I  efteemed  dear, 
Did  fay,  it  was  a  gallant  thing 
To  be  beloved  of  a  king. 

By  her  perfuafions  I  was  led 
For  to  defile  my  marriage-bed, 
And   wrong  my  wedded  hulband  Shore, 
Whom  I  had  lov'd  ten  years  before. 

In  heart  and  mind  I  did  rejoice, 
That  I  had  made  fo  fweet  a  choice  ; 
And  therefor  did  my  ftate  refign, 
To  be  king  Edwards  concubine. 

0.3 


b  ANCIENT    BALLADS, 

From  city  then  to  court  I  went, 
To  reap  the  pleafures  of  content ; 
And  had  the  joys  that  love  could  bring, 
And  knew  the  fecrets  of  a  king. 

When  I  was  thus  advanc'd  on   high, 
^Commanding  Edward  with   mine  eye, 
For  miftrefs  Blague  I,  in  fhort  fpace, 
Obtain'd  a  living  from  his  grace. 

No  friend  I  had  but,    in  fhort  time, 
I  made   unto  promotion  climb ; 
But  yet,  for  all  this  coftly  pride, 
My  hufband  could  not  me   abide. 

His  bed,  though  wronged  by  a  king, 
His  heart  with  grief  did  deadly  fling ; 
From  England  then  he  goes  away, 
To  end  his  life  beyond  the  fea. 

He  could  not  live  to  fee  his  name 
Impaired  by  my  wanton  fhame ; 
Although  a  prince  of  peerlefs  might 
Did  reap  the  pleafure  of  his  right. 

Long  time  I  lived  in  the  court, 
With  lords   and  ladies   of   great  fort; 
And  when  I  fmiPd  all  men  were  glad, 
But  when  I  mourn'd  my  prince  grew  fad. 


Bet 


AN  CJ  E  NT    B  A  LL  AD  S.  231 

But  yet  an  honeft  mind  I  bore 

To  helplefs  people  that  were  poor; 

I  ftill  redrefs'd  the  orphans  cry, 

And  fav'd  their  lives  condemn'd  to  die. 


I  ftill  had  ruth  on  widows  tears, 
I  fuccour'd  babes  of  tender  years ; 
And  never  look'd  for  other  gain 
But  love  and  thanks  for  all  my  pain. 

At  laft  my  royal  king  did  die, 
And  then  my  days  of  woe  grew  nigh  ; 
When  crook-back  Richard  got  the  crown, 
King  Edwards  friends  were  foon  put  down. 

I  then  was  punifh'd  for  my  fin, 
That  I  fo  long  had  lived  in  ; 
Yea,  every  one  that  was  his  friend, 
This  tyrant  brought  to  fhameful  end. 

Then  for  my  lewd  and  wanton  life, 
That  made  a  ftrumpet  of  a  wife, 
I  penance  did  in  Lombard-ftreet, 
In  fhameful  manner  in  a  meet : 

Where  many  thoufands  did  me  view, 
Who  late  in  court  my  credit  knew ; 
Which  made  the  tears  run  down  my  face, 
To  think  upon  my  foul  difgrace. 

CL4  «** 


2  ANCIENT    BALL  ADS, 

Not  thus  content,  they  took  from  me 
My  goods,  my  livings,  and  my  fee, 
And  charg'd  that  none  mould  me  relieve, 
Nor  any  fuccour  to  me  give. 

Then  unto  miftrefs  Blague  I  went, 
To  whom  my  jewels  I  had  fent, 
In  hope  thereby  to  eafe  my  want, 
When  riches  fail'd,  and  love  grew  fcant. 

But  (he  denied  to  me  the  fame, 
When  in  my  need  for  them  I  came  ; 
To  recompence  my  former  love, 
Out  of  her  doors  me  did  me  move. 

So  love  did  vanifh  with  my  ftate, 
Which  now  my  foul  repents  too  late; 
Therefor  example  take  by  me, 
For  friendmip  parts  in  poverty. 

But  yet  one  friend,  among  the  reft, 
Whom  I  before  had  feen  diftrefs'd, 
And  fav'd  his  life,  condemn'd  to  die, 
Did  give  me  food  to  fuccour  me : 

For  which,  by  law,  it  was  decreed, 
That  he  was  hanged  for  that  deed ; 
His  death  did  grieve  me  fb  much  more, 
Than  had  I  died  myfelf  therefor. 


Then 


ANCIENT  BALLADS.-       »5j 

Then  thofe  to  whom  I  had  done  good, 
Durft  not  reftore  me  any  food  ; 
Whereby  in  vain  I  begg'd  all  day, 
And  ftill  in  ftreets  by  night  I  lay. 

My  gowns  befet  with  pearl  and  gold 
Were  turn'd  to  fimple  garments  old  ; 
My  chains  and  gems  and  golden  rings, 
To  filthy  rags  and  loathfome  things. 

Thus  was  I  fcorn'd  of  maid  and  wife, 
For  leading  fuch  a  wicked  life  ; 
Both  fucking  babes,  and  children  fmall, 
Did  make  their  paftime  at  my  fall. 

I  could  not  get  one  bit  of  bread, 
Whereby  my  hunger  might  be  fed  : 
Nor  drink,  but  fuch  as  channels  yield, 
Or  {linking  ditches  in  the  field. 

Thus,  weary  of  my  life,  at  length, 
I  yielded  up  my  vital  flrength, 
Within  a  ditch  of  loathfome  fcent, 
Where  carrion  dogs  do  much  frequent. 

The  which  now  fince  my  dying  day, 
IsShoreditchcall'd,  as  writers  fay, 
Which  is  a  witnefs  of  my  fin, 
For  being  concubine  to  a  king. 

You 


.ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

You  wanton  wives,  that  fall  to  luft, 
Be  you  aflur'd  that  God  is  juft  ; 
Whoredom  fhall  not  efcape  his  hand, 
Nor  pride  unpunifh'd  in  this  land. 

If  God  to  me  fuch  Ihame  did  bring, 
That  yielded  only  to  a  king, 
Haw  fhall  they  fcape  that  dayly  run 
To  pradife  fin  with  every  man. 

You  hufbands,  match  not  but  for  love, 

Left  fome  difl  iking  after  prove  ; 

Women,  be  warn'd  when  you  are  wives, 

What  plagues  are  due  to  finful  lives : 
Then,  maids  and  wives,  in  time  amend, 
For  love  and  beauty  will  have  end. 


BALLAD    X. 

TRUE     LOVE      RE  QJJ  I  T  E  D  ; 

Or, 

THE    BAILIFFS    DAUGHTER     OF    ISLINGTON. 


was  a  youth,  and  a  well-beloved  youth, 
A        And  he  was  acquires  fon  : 
He  lov'd  the  bailiffs  daughter  dear, 
That  liv'd  in  Islington. 


She 


A  N  C  I  E  N  T    B  A  L  L  A  D  S. 

She  was  coy,  and  fhe  would  not  believ* 

That  he  did  love  her  fp, 
No  nor  at  any  time  fhe  would 

Any  countenance  to  him  mow. 

But  when  his  friends  did  underfland 

His  fond  and  foolifh  mind, 
They  fent  him  up  to  fair  London, 

An  apprentice  for  to  bind. 

And  when  he  had  been  feven  long  years, 

His  love  he  had  not  feen  : 
"  Many  a   tear  have  I  fhed  for  her  fake, 

When  fhe  little  thought  of  me." 

All  the  maids  of  Iflington, 
Went  forth  to  fport  and  play, 

All  but  the  bailiffs  daughter  dear, 
She  fecretly  Hole  away. 

She  put  off  her  gown  of  grey, 
And  put  on  her  puggifh  attire, 

She's  up   to  fair  London  gone, 
Her  true  love  to  require. 

As  fhe  went  along  the  road, 
The  weather  being  hot  and  dry, 

There  was  fhe  aware  of  her  true  love, 
At  length  came  riding  by. 


Sha 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

She  ftepp'd  to  him  a?  red  as  any  rofe, 

Catching  hold  of  his  bridle-ring : 
««  Pray  you,  kind  fir,  give  me  one  penny, 

To  eafe  my  weary  limb." 

"  I  prithee  Tweet-heart,  can'fl  thou  tell  me, 

Where  that  thou  waft  born." 
At  Iflington,  kind  fir,  faid  fhe, 

Where  I  have  had  many  a  fcorn. 

"  I  prithee,  fweet-heart,  can'ft  thou  tell  me, 

Whether  thou  doft  know 
The  bailiffs  daughter  of  Iflington." 

«'  She's  dead,  fir,  long  ago." 

"  Then  will  I  fell  my  goodly  fteed, 

My  faddle  and  my  bow ; 
I  will  into  fome  far  country, 

Where  no  man  doth  me  know." 

««  O  ftay,  O  ftay,  thou  goodly  youth, 

She's  alive,  flie    is  not  dead ; 
Here  fhe  ftandeth  by  thy  fide, 

And  is  ready  to  be  thy  bride." 

"  O  farewell  grief,  and  welcome  joy, 

Ten  thoufand  times  and  more  ; 
For  now  I  have  feen  mine  own  true  love, 

That  I  thought  I  fhould  have  feen  no  more  i" 


BALLAD 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

BALLAD    XI. 

THE  KING  OP  FRANCE'S  DAUGHTER. 

IN  the  days  of  old, 
When  fair  France  did  fieurifh, 
Stories  plainly  told, 

Lovers  felt  annoy : 
The  king  a  daughter  had, 

Beauteous,   fair,  and  lovely, 
Which  made  her  father  glad, 

She  was  his  only  joy; 
A  prince  from  England  came, 
Whofe  deeds  did  merit  fame, 

He  woo'd  her  long,  and  lo,  at  laft, 
Look  what  he  did  require, 
She  granted  his  defire; 

Their  hearts  in  one  were  linked  faft. 
Which  when  her  father  proved, 
Lord,  how  he  was  moved, 

And  tormented  in  his  mind ! 
He  fought  for  to  prevent  them, 
And  to  difcontent  them, 

Fortune  crofled  lovers  kind. 


*  The  full  title  in   the  old  copies,  is    «  An  excellent  ballad  of  a 
prince  of  Englanda    courtfhip  to  the  king  of  France's  daughter,  ., 
how  the  prince   was  difafterously  flai*  and  how  the  aforefaid  prui 
was  afterwards  married  to  a  Forrefter." 

When 


A-N  CIENT    BALLADS. 

When   thefe  princes  twain 

Were  thus  barr'd  of  pleafure, 
Through  the  kings  difdain, 

Which  their  joys  withftood  : 
The  lady  lock'd  up  clofe 

Her  jewels*  and  her  treafure, 
Having  no  remorfe, 

Of  ftate  and  royal   blood  : 
In  homely  poor  array, 
She  went  from  court  away, 

To  meet  her  love  and  hearts  delight : 
Who  in  a  foreft  great 
Had  taken  up  his  feat, 

To  wait  her  coming  in  the  night : 
But  lo  I  what  fudden  danger 
To  this  princely  ftranger 

Chanced  as  he  fat  alone  ; 
By  outlaws  he  was  robbed, 
And  with  poniard  flabbed, 

Uttering  many  a  dying  groan. 

The  princefs  armed  by  him* 

And   by  true  defire, 
Wandering  all  that  night, 

Without  dread  at  all  ; 
Still   unknown   fhe  pafs'd, 

In  her   ftrange  attire, 
Coming  at  the  laft, 

Within   echos  call, 
You  fair  woods,  quoth  fhe, 
Honoured  may  you  be, 

Harbouring  my  hearts  delight  : 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  «39 

Which  doth  encompafs  here, 
My  joy  and  only  dear, 

My  trufty  friend  and  comely  knight. 
Sweet,  I  come   unto  thee, 
Sweet,  I  come  to  woo  thee, 

That  thou  may'ft  not  angry  be, 
For   my  long   delaying, 
And  thy  courteous  flaying, 

Amends  for  all  I'll  make  to  thee. 

Faffing  thus  alone, 

Through  the  filent  foreft,  A 

Many  a  grievous  groan, 

Sounded  in   her  ear  ; 

Where  {he  heard  a  man 

To   lament  the  foreft 

Chance  that  ever  came  ; 

Forc'd  by  deadly  ftrife, 
Farewell,  my  dear,  quoth  he, 
Whom  I  ihali   never  fee, 

For  why  my  life  is  at  an  end  ; 
For  thy  fweet  fake  I  die, 
Through  villains  cruelty, 

To  mow  I  am  a  faithful  friend  : 
Here  lie  I  a  bleeding, 
While  my  thoughts  are  feeding, 
On  the  rareft  beauty  found  ; 
O   hard  hap  that  may  be, 
Little  knows  my  lady, 

My  hearts  blood  lies  on  the  grounfl. 

Witk 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

With  that  he  gave  a  groan, 

That  did  break  afunder 
All  the  tender  firings 

Of  his  gentle  heart ; 
She  who  knew  his  voice, 

At  his  tale  did  wonder, 
All  her  former  joys 

Did  to  grief  convert  : 
Straight  fhe  ran  to  fee, 
Who  this  man  mould,  be, 

That  fo  like  her  love  did  (peak ; 
And  found,  when  as  fhe   cam», 
Her  lovely    lord  lay  flain, 

Smear'd  in   blood,  which  life  did  bresi. : 
Which  when  fhe  efpied, 
Lord,  how  fore  fhe  cried  ! 

Her  forrows  could   not  counted  be  ; 
Her  eyes  like  fountains  running, 
While  fhe  cried  out,   My  darling, 

Would  God  that  I  had  died  for  thee ! 

His  pale  lips,   alas ! 

Twenty  times  fhe  kitted, 
And  his  face  did  vvafh 

With  her  brinifh  tears  ; 
Every  bleeding  wound, 

Her  fair  face  bedewed, 
Wiping  off  the  blood 

With  her  golden  hair  : 
Speak,  my   love,  quoth  fhe, 
Speak,  dear  prince,  to  me, 

On* 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  241 

One  fweet  word  of  comfort  give ; 
Lift  up  thy  fair  eyes, 
Liilen  to  my  cries, 

Think  in  what  great  grief  I  live. 
All  in  vain  (he  fued, 
All  in  vain   (he  wooed, 

The  prince's  life  was  fled  and  gone, 
There  ftood  ihe  ftill  mourning, 
Till  the  funs  returning, 

And  bright  day  was  coming  on. 

In  this  great  diftrefs, 

Quoth  this  royal  lady, 
Who  can  now  exprefs, 

What  will  become  of  me  ? 
To  my  fathers  court 

Never  will  I  wander, 
But  fome  fervice  feek, 

Where  I. may  placed  be. 
Whilft  me  thus  made  her  moan, 
Weeping  all  alone, 

In  this  deep  and  deadly  fear, 
A  forefter,  all  in  green, 
Moft  comely  to  be  fcen, 

Ranging  the  wood,  did  find  her  there, 
Round  befet  with  forrow  ; 
Maid,  quoth  he,  good  morrow, 

What  hard  hap  hath  brought  you  here  ? 
Harder  hap  did  never 
Chance  to  a  maiden  ever, 

Here  lies  flain  my  brother  dear. 

»  Where 

VOL.  IL  R 


242 


Where  might  I  be  plac'd  ? 

Gentle  forefter,  tell  me ; 
Where  might  I  procure 

A  fervice  in  my  need  ? 
Pains  I  will  not  fpare, 

But  will  do  my  duty  ; 
Eafe  me  of  my  care, 

Help  my  extreme  need. 
The  forefter,  all  amazed, 
On  her  beauty  gazed, 

Till  his  heart  was  fet  on  fire  ; 
If,  fair  maid,  quoth  he, 
You  will  go  with  me, 

You  mall  have  your  hearts  defire. 
He  brought  her  to  his   mother, 
And  above  all  other 

He  fet  forth  this  maidens  praife  ; 
Long  was  his  heart  inflamed, 
At  length  her  love  he  gained, 

So  fortune  did  his  glory  raife. 

Thus  unknown  he  match'd 

With  the  kings  fair  daughter, 
Children  feven  he  had 

Ere  me  to  him   was  known  ; 
But  when  he  underftood 

She  was  at  royal  princefs, 
By  this  means  at  laft 

He  mewed  forth  her  fame  ; 
He  cloth'd  his  children  then, 
Not  like  to  other  men, 

In  party  colours  ftrange  to  fee, 


The 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  243 

The  right  fide  cloth  of  gold, 
The  left  fide  to  behold 

Of  woolen  cloth  ftill  framed  he: 
Men  thereat  did  wonder, 
Golden  fame  did  thunder 

This  ftrange  deed  in  every  place: 
The  king  of  France  came  thither, 
Being  pleafant  weather, 

In  the  woods  the  hart  to  chafe. 

The  children  there  did  Hand, 

As  their  mother  willed, 
Where  the  royal  king 

Muft  of  force  come  by  ; 
Their  mother  richly  clad 
In  fair  crimfon  velvet ; 
Their  father  all  in  grey, 

Moft  comely  to  the  eye. 
When  this  famous  king, 
Noting  every  thing, 

Did'aflt  how  he  durft  be  fo  bold 
To  let  his  wife  to  wear, 
And  deck  his  children  there, 

In  coftly  robes  of  pearl  and  gold. 
The  forefter  bold  replied, 
And  the  caufe  defcried, 

And  to  the  king  he  thus  did  fay, 
Well  may  they,  by  their  mother, 
Wear  rich  clothes  with  other, 
Being  by  birth  a  princefs  gay. 

R* 


244  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

The    king,  upon  thefe  words, 

Moft  heedfully  beheld  them, 
Till   a  crimfon  blufli 

His  conceit  did  crofs : 
The  more  I  look,  quoth   he, 

Upon  thy  wife  and  children, 
The  more  I  call  to  mind 

My  daughter  whom  I  loft. 
I  am  that  child,  quoth  fhe, 
Falling  on  her  knee, 

Pardon  me  my  fovereign  liege. 
The  king  perceiving  this, 
His  daughter  dear  did  kifs, 

Till  joyful  tears  did  flop  his  fpeech : 
With  his  train  he  turned, 
And  with   her  fojourned  ; 

Straight  he  dubb'd  her  hufband  knight ; 
He  made  him  earl  of  Flanders, 
One  of  his  chief  commanders, 

Thus  was  their  forrow  put  to  flight. 

BALLAD      XII. 

THE  FAMOUS  FLOWER  OF  SERVING-MEN: 

Or, 
THE  LADY  TURN'D  SERVING-MAN. 

YO  U  beauteous  ladies  great  and   fmall, 
I  write  unto  you  one  and  all, 
Whereby  that  you  may  underftand 
What  I  have  fuffer'd  in  this  land. 

I  wai 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  245 

I  was   by  birth  a  lady  fair, 
My  fathers  chief  and  only  heir, 
But  when  my  good  old  father  died, 
Then  I  was  made  a  young  knights  bride. 

And  then   my  love  built  me  a  bower, 
Bedeck'd  with  many  a  fragrant  flower  ; 
A  braver  bower  you  ne'er  did  fee, 
Than  my  true  love  did  build  for  me. 

But  there  came  thieves  late  in  the  night. 
They  robb'd  my  bower,  and  flew  my  knight, 
And  after  that  my  knight  was  flain, 
I  could  no  longer  there  remain. 

My  fervant,  all  from  me  did  fly, 

In  th'  midft  of  my  extremity, 

And  left  me  by  myfelf  alone, 

With  a  heart  more  cold  than  any  ftone. 

Yet,  though  my  heart  was  full  of  care, 
Heaven  would  not  fuffer  me  to  defpair, 
Wherefor  in  hafte  I  chang'd  my  name 
From  fair  Elife  to  Sweet  William. 

And  therewithal!  I  cut  my  hair, 
And  drefs'd  myfelf  in  man's  attire, 
My  doublet,  hofe,  and  beaver  hat, 
And  a  golden  band  about  my  neck. 

With 
R  3 


246  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

With  a  filver  rapier  by  my   fide, 
So  like  a  gallant  I  did  ride  ; 
The  thing  that  I  delighted  on, 
It  was  to  be   a  ferving-man. 

'* 

Thus  in  my  fumptuous  mans  array, 
I  bravely  rode   along  the  way  ; 
And  at  the  laft  it  chanced  fo, 
That  I  to  the  kings  court  did  go. 

Then  to  the  king  I  bow'd  full  low, 
My  love  and  duty  for  to  mow  ; 
And  fo  much  favour  I  did  crave, 
That  I  a  ferving-mans  place   might  have. 

Stand  up,  brave  youth,  the  king  replied, 
Thy  fervice  {hall  not  be  denied  ; 
But  tell  me  firft  what  thou  can'ft  do, 
Thou  malt  be  fitted  thereunto. 


Wilt  thou  be   uftier  of  my  hall, 
To  wait  upon   my   nobles   all  ? 
Or  wilt  thou  be  tapfter  of  my  wine, 
To  wait  on  me  when  I  do  dine  ? 

Or  wilt  thou  be  my  chamberlain, 
To  make  my  bed  both  foft  and  fine  ? 
Or  wilt  thou  be  one  of  my  guard  ? 
And  I  will  give  thee  thy  reward. 


Sweet 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

Sweet  William,  with  a  fmiling  face, 
Said  to  the  king,  If't  pleafe  your  grace, 
To  fhow  fuch  favour  unto  me, 
Your  chamberlain  1  fain  would  be. 

The  king  then  did  the  nobles  call, 
To   aflc  the  counfel  of  them  all ; 
Who  gave  confent  fweet  William  he, 
The  kings  own  chamberlain  mould  be. 

Now  mark  what  ftrange  thing  came  to  pafs, 
As  the  king    one  day  a  hunting  was, 
With  all  his  lords  and  noble  train, 
Sweet  William  did  at  home  remain. 

Sweet  William  had  no  company  then] 
With   him  at  home  but  an  old  man ; 
And  when  he  faw  the  houfe  was  clear, 
He  took  a  lute  which  he  had  there ; 

Upon  the  lute  Sweet  William  play'd, 
And  to  the  fame  he  fung  and  faid, 
With  a  fweet   and  noble  voice, 
Which  made  the  old  man  to  rejoicej: 

My  father  was   as  brave   a  lord 
As  ever  Europe  did  afford, 
My  mother  was  a  lady  bright, 
My  hufband  was  a   valiant  Knight. 

R  4  And 


8  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

And  I  myfelf  a  lady  gay, 
Bedeck'd  with  gorgeous  rich   array, 
The  braveft  lady  in  the  land 
Had  not  more  pleafure  at  command. 

I  had  my  mufic  every  day, 
Harmonious  le'flbns  for  to  play  ; 
I  had  my  virgins  fair  and  free, 
Continually  to  wait  on   me. 

But  now,  alas  !  my  huiband's  dead, 
And  all  my  friends  are  from  me  fled  ; 
My  former  joys  are  pafs'd  and  gone, 
For  I  am  now  a  ferving-man. 

At  laft  the  king  from  hunting  came, 
And  prefently  upon  the  fame, 
He  called  for  this  good  old  man, 
And  thus  to  fpeak  the  king  began  : 

What  news,  what  news,  old  man  ?  quoth  he  ; 
What  news  haft  thou  to  tell  to  me  ? 
Brave  news,  the  old  man  he  did  fay, 
Sweet  William  is  a  lady  gay. 

If  this  be  true  thou  tell'ft  to  me 
I'll  make  thee  a  lord  of  high  degree  ; 
But  if  thy  words  do  prove  a  lie, 
Thou  mall  be  hang'd  up  prefently. 


But 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

But  when  the  king  the  truth  had  found, 
His  joys  did  more  and  more  abound  : 
According  as  the  old  man  did  fay, 
Sweet  William  was  a  lady  gay. 

Therefor  the  king,  without  delay, 
Put  on  her  glorious  rich  array, 
And  upon  her  head  a  crown  of  gold, 
Which  was  moft  famous  to  behold. 

And  then,  for  fear  of  further  ftrife, 
He  took  Sweet  William  for  his  wife : 
The  like  before  was  never  feen, 
A  ferving-man  to  be  a  queen. 


BALLAD    XIII. 

THE    CHILDREN   IN   THE   WOOD: 
Or, 

THE  NORFOLK  GENTLEMANS  LAST  WILL  AND 
TESTAMENT. 

NOW  ponder  well,  you  parents  dear,  • 
The  words  which  I  fhall  write ; 
A  doleful  ftory  you  (hall  hear, 

In  time  brought  forth  to  light: 

A  gen- 


A  N  C  I  E  N  T    B  A  L  L  A  0  S. 

A  gentleman  of  good  account 

In  Norfolk  liv'd  of  late, 
Whofe  wealth  and  riches  did  furmount 

Moil  men  of  his  eftate. 

Sore  fick  he  was,  and  like  to  die, 

No  help  that  he  could  have  ; 
His  wife  by  him  as  fick  did  lie, 

And  both  poflefs'd  one  grave. 
No  love  between  thefe  two  was  loft, 

Each  was  to  other  kind  ; 
In  love  they  liv'd,  in  love  they  died, 

And  lefc  two  babes  behind  : 

The  one  a  fine  and  pretty  boy, 

Not  paffing  three  years  old  ; 
The  other  a  girl,  more  young  than  he, 

And  made  in  beautys  mold. 
The  father  left  his  little  fon, 

As  plainly  doth  appear, 
When  he  to  perfect  age  fhould  come, 

Three  hundred  pounds  a  year  j 

And  to  his  little  daughter  Jane 

Five  hundred  pounds  in  gold, 
To  be  paid  down  on  marriage  day, 

Which  might  not  be  controuPd  : 
But  if  the  children  chance  to  die 

Ere  they  to  age  mould  come, 
Their  uncle  mould  poflefs  their  wealth  ; 

For  fo  the  will  did  run. 


Now, 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  25, 

Now,  brother,  faid  the  dying  man, 
.   Look  to  my  .children  dear  ; 
Be  good  unto  my  boy  and  girl, 

No  friends  elfe  I  have  here  : 
To  God  and  you  I  do  commend 

My  children  night  and  day  ; 
But  little  while,  be  fure,  we  have 

Within  this  world  to  flay. 

You  muft  be  father  and  mother  both, 

And  uncle,  all  in  one ; 
God  knows  what  will  become  of  them, 

When  I  am  dead  and  gone. 
With  that  befpake  their  mother  dear, 

O  brother  kind,  quoth  flie, 
You  are  the  man  muft  bring  our  babes 

To  wealth  or  mifery. 

And  if  you  keep  them  carefully, 

Then  God  will  you  reward; 
Jf  otherwife  you  feem  to  deal, 

God  will  your  deeds  regard. ' 
With  lips  as  cold  as  any  ftone, 

She  kifs'd  her  children  fmall : 
God  blefs  you  both,  my  children  dear. 

With  that  the  tears  did  fall. 

Thefe  fpeeches  then  their  brother  fpoke 

To  this  fick  couple  there  : 
The  keeping  of  your  children  dear, 

Sweet  filter,  do  not  fear ; 

God 


A  N  C  I  E  N  T    B  A  L  L  A  D  S. 

God  never  profper  me  nor  mine, 

Nor  ought   elfe  that  I   have, 
If  I  do  wrong  your  children  dear, 

When  you  are  laid  in  grave. 

Their  parents  being  dead  and  gone, 

The  children  home  he  takes, 
And  brings  them  home  unto  his  houfe, 

And  much  of  them  he  inakes. 
He  had  not  kept  thefe  pretty  babes 

A  twelvemonth  and  a  day, 
But,  for  their  wealth,  he  did  devife 

To  make  them  both  away. 

He  bargain'd  with  two  ruffians  rude, 

Which  were  of  furious  mood, 
That  they  mould  take  the  children  young, 

And  flay  them  in  a  wood. 
He  told  his  wife,  and  all  he  had, 

He  did  the  children  fend, 
To  be  brought  up  in  fair  London, 

With  one  that  was  his  friend. 

Away  then  went  thefe   pretty  babes, 

Rejoicing   at   that   tide, 
Rejoicing  with  a  merry  mind, 

They  mould  on  cock-horfe  ride. 
They  prate  and  prattle  pleafantly, 

As  they  rode  on  the  way, 
To  thofe  that  mould  their  butchers  be, 

And  work  their  lives  decay. 


So 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  ,5J 

So  that  the  pretty  fpeech  they  had, 

Made  murderers  hearts  relent  ; 
And  they  that  undertook  the  deed 

Full  fore   they  did  repent. 
Yet  one  of  them,  more  hard  of  heart, 

Did  vow  to  do  his  charge, 
Becaufe  the  wretch  that  hired  him 

Had  paid  him  very  large. 

The  other  would  not  agree  thereto, 

So  here  they  fell  at  ftrife ; 
With  one  another  they  did  fight, 

About  the  childrens  life : 
And  he  that  was  of  mildeft  mood, 

Did  flay  the  other  there, 
Within  an  unfrequented  wood  ; 

While  babes  did  quake  for  fear. 

He  took  the  children  by  the  hand, 

When  tears  ftood  in  their  eye, 
And  bade  them  come  and  go  with  him, 

And  look  they  did  not  cry  : 
And  two  long  miles  he  led  them  on, 

While  they  for  food  complain  : 
Stay  here,  quoth  he,  I'll  bring  you  bread. 

When  1  do  come  again. 

Thefe  pretty  babes,  with  hand  ia  hand, 

Went  wandering  up  and  down ; 
But  never  more  they  faw  the  man, 

Approaching  from  the  town  : 

Their 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

Their  pretty  lips,  with  black-berries, 

Were  all  befmear'd  and  died, 
And,  when  they  faw  the  darkfome  night, 

They  fate  them  down  and  cried. 

Thus  wandered  thefe  two  pretty  babes, 

Till  death  did  end  their  grief; 
In  one  anothers  arms  they  died, 

As  babes  wanting  relief: 
No  burial  thefe  pretty  babes 

Of  any  man   receives, 
Till  Robin -red-breaft,  painfully, 

Did  cover  them  with  leaves. 

And  now  the  heavy  wrath  of  God 

Upon  their  uncle  fell ; 
Yea,  fearful  fiends  did  haunt  his  houfe, 

His  confcience  felt  an  hell  : 
His  barns  were  fir'd,  his  goods  confum'd, 

His  lands  were  barren  made, 
His  cattle  died  within  the  field, 

And  nothing  with  him  ftay'd. 

And,  in  the  voyage  of  Portugal, 

Two  of  his  fons  did  die  ; 
And,  to  conclude,  himfelf  was  brought 

To  extreme  mifery  : 
He  pawn'd  and  mortgag'd  all  his  land 

Ere  feven  years  came  about. 
And  now   at  length   this   wicked  aft, 

Did  by  this  means  come  out : 


Th« 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  aS5 

The  fellow  that  did  take  in  hand 

Thefe  children  for  to  kill, 
Was  for  a  robbery  judg'd  to  die, 

As  was  Gods  bleifed  will ; 
Who  did  confefs  the  very  truth, 

The  which  is  here  exprefs'd  ; 
Their  uncle  died  while  he,  for  debt, 

In  prifon  long  did  reft. 

All  you  that  be  executors  made, 

And  overfeeers  eke, 
Of  children  that  be  fatherlefs, 

And  infants  mild  and  meek, 
Take  you  example  by  this  thing, 

And  yield  to  each  his  right, 
Left  God,  with  fuch  like  mifery, 

Your  wicked  minds  requite. 


BALLAD    XIV. 
GEORGE      BARNWEL. 

ALL  youths  of  fair  England, 
That  dwell'  both  far  and  near, 
Regard  my  ftory  that  I  tell, 
And  to  my  fong  give  ear. 

A  London 


2SS  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

A  London  lad  I  was, 

A  merchants  prentice  bound, 
My  name  George  Barnwel,    that  did  (pend 

My  matter  many  a  pound. 

Take  "heed  of  harlots  then, 

And  their  enticing  trains; 
For  by  that  means  I  have  been  brought 

To  hang  alive  in  chains. 

As  I,  upon  a  day, 

Was  walking  through  the  flreet, 
About  my  matters  bufinefs, 

I  did  a  wanton  meet. 

A  gallant  dainty  dame, 

And  fumptuous  in  attire. 
With  fmiling  looks  fhe  greeted  me, 

And  did  my  name  require. 

Which  when  I  had  delar'd, 

She  gave  me  then  a  kifs, 
And  faid,  if  I  would  come  to  her, 

I  mould  have  more  than  this. 

In  faith,  my  boy,  quoth  (he, 

Such  news  I  can  you  tell, 
As  mall  rejoice  your  very  heart, 

Then  come  where  I  do  dwell. 


Fair 


A  N  C  I  E  N  T    B  A  L  L  A  D  S.  25; 

Fair  miftrefs,  then  faid  I, 

If  I  the  place  may  know, 
This  evening  I  will  be  with  you, 

For  I  abroad  muft  go, 

To  gather  moneys  in, 

That  is  my  matters  due  : 
And,  ere  that  I  do  home  return, 

I'll  come  and  vifit  you. 

Good  Barnwel,  then  quoth  me, 

Do  thou  to  Shoreditch  come, 
And  afk  for  miftrefs  Milwood  there, 

Next  door  unto  the  Gun. 

And  truft  me  on  my  truth, 

If  thou  keep  touch  with  me, 
For  thy  friends  fake,  and  as  my  own  heart, 

Thou  (halt  right  welcome  be. 

Thus  parted  we  in  peace, 

And  home  I  patted  right; 
Then  went  abroad  and  gathered  in, 
By  fix  o'clock  at  night, 

An  hundred  pound  and  one  : 

With  bag  under  my  arm 
I  went  to  miftrefs  Milwoods  houfe, 

And  thought  on  little  harm  ; 

VOL.  II.  * 


258  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

And  knocking  at  the  door, 

Straightway  herfelf  came  down  ; 
Ruftling  in  moft  brave  attire, 

Her  hood  and  filken  gown. 

Who,  through  her  beauty  bright, 

So  gloriously  did  fhine, 
That  me  amaz'd  my  dazzling  eyes, 

She  feemed  fo  divine. 

She  took  me  by  the  hand, 

And  with  a  modeft  grace, 
Welcome,  fweet  Barnwel,  then  quoth  (he, 

Unto  this  homely  place. 

Welcome  ten  thoufand  times, 

More  welcome  than  my  brother, 
And  better  welcome,  I  proteft, 

Than  any  one  or  other. 

And  feeing  I  have  thee  found 

As  good  as  thy  word  to  be, 
A  homely  fupper,  ere  thou  part, 

Thou  malt  take  here  with  me. 


O  pardon  me,  quoth  I, 
Fair  miftrefs  I  you  pray  ; 

For  why,  out  of  my  mailers  houfe 
So  long  I  dare  not  ftay  : 


Alas, 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  159 

Alas,  good  fir,  fhe  faid, 

Are  you   fo  ftriftly  tied, 
You  may  not  with  your  deareft  friend 

One  hour  or  two  abide  ? 

Faith,  then  the  cafe  is  hard  ; 

If  it  be  fo,  quoth  fhe, 
I  would  I  were  a  prentice  bound, 

To  live  in  houfe  with  thee. 

Therefor,  my  fweeteft  George, 

Lift  well  what  I  do  fay, 
And  do  not  blame  a  woman  much 

Her  fancy  to  bewray  : 

Let  not  affeftions  force 

Be  counted  lewd  defire  ; 
Nor  think  it  not  immodefty, 

I  mould  thy  love  require. 

With  that  me  turn'd  afide, 

And  with  a  blufhing  red, 
A  mournful  motion  me  bewray'd 

By  holding  down  her  head. 


A  handkerchief  (he  had, 

All  wrought  with  filk  and  gold 

Which  (he,  to  ftav  her  trickling  tears, 
Againft  her  eyes  did  hold. 


S  z 


26o  ANCIENT     BALLADS. 

This  thing  unto  my  fight 

Was  wond'rous  rare  and  ftrange  ; ' 

And  in  my  mind  and  inward  thought 
It  wrought  a  fudden  change  : 

That  I  fo  hardy  was 

To  take  her  by  the  hand ; 
Saying,  Sweet  miitrefs,  why  do  you 

So  fad  and  heavy  ftand  ? 

Call  me  no  miftrefs  now, 

But  Sarah,  thy  true  friend, 
Thy  fervant  Sarah,  honouring  thee 

Until  her  life  doth  end. 

If  thou  would'ft  here  alledge, 

Thou  art  in  years  a  boy  ; 
So  was  Adonis,  yet  was  he 

Fair  Venus'  love  and  joy. 

Thus  I,  that  ne'er  before 

Of  woman  found  fuch  grace, 
And  feeing  now  fo  /air  a  dame 

Give  me  a  kind  embrace, 

I  fupp'd  with  her  that  night, 

With  joys  that  did  abound  ; 
And  for  the  fame  paid  prefently 

In  money  twice  three  pound. 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  261 

An  hundred  kifies  then 

For  my  farewell  fhe  gave  ; 
Saying,  Sweet  Barnwel,  when  (hall  I 

Again  thy  company  have  i 

O  flay  not  too  long,  my  dear  ; 

Sweet  George,  have  me  in  mind. 
Her  words  bewitch'd  my  childiihnefs, 

She  uttered  them  fo  kind : 

So  that  I  made  a  vow, 

Next  Sunday  without  fail, 
With  my  fweet  Sarah  once  again 

To  tell  fome  pleafant  tale. 

When  fhe  heard  me  fay  fo, 

The  tears  fell  from  her  «  eye' ; 
O  George,  quoth  flic,  if  thou  do'ft  fail, 

Thy  Sarah  fure  will  die. 

Though  long,  yet  lo !  at  laft, 

The  'pointed  day  was  come, 
That  I  muft  with  my  Sarah  meet; 

Having  a  mighty  fum 

Of  money  in  my  hand, 

Unto  her  houfe  went  I, 
Whereas  my  love  upon  her  bed 

In  faddeft  fort  did  lie. 

!,  14,  eyes.  O.  CC. 
S  3 


ANCIENT    BALLADS, 

What  ails  my  hearts  delight, 

My  baran  dear  ?  quoth  I  j 
Let  not  my  love  kment  and  grieve, 

Nor  fighing,  pine,  and  die. 

But  tell  to  me,  my  deareft  friend, 

What  may  thy  woes  aaiend, 
And  thou  mait  feek  no  means  of  help, 

Though  forty  pound  I  fpend. 

With  that  me  turn'd  her  head, 

And  fickly  thus  did  fay, 
Oh,  my  fweet  George,  my  grief  is  great, 

Ten  pounds  I  have  to  pay 

Unto  a  cruel  wretch  ; 

And  God  he  knows,  quoth  fhe, 
I  have  it  not.     Turn,  rife,  quoth  he, 

And  take  it  here  of  me. 

Ten  pounds,  nor  ten  turtles  ten. 

Shall  make  my  love  decay. 
Then  from  his  bag  into  her  lap, 

He  caft  ten  pound  ftraightway. 

All  blithe  and  pleafant  then, 

To  banqueting  they  go  ; 
She  proffered  him  to  lie  with  her, 

And  faid  it  mould  be  fo. 


And 


ANCIENT   BALLADS.  263 

And  after  that  fame  time, 

I  gave  her  ftore  of  coin, 
Yea,  fometimes  fifty  pound  at  once, 

All  which  I  did  purloin. 

And  thus  I  did  pafs  on; 

Until  my  matter  then 
Did  call  to  have  his  reckoning  in, 

Caft  up  among  his  men. 

The  which  when  as  I  heard, 

I  knew  not  what  to  fay  : 
For  well  I  knew  that  1  was  out 

Two  hundred  pounds  that  day. 

Then  from  my  mafter  ftraight 

I  ran  in  fecret  fort ; 
And  unto  Sarah  Milwood  then 

My  ftate  I  did  report. 


But  how  (he  us'd  this  youth, 
In  this  his  extreme  need, 

The  which  did  her  neceffity 
So  oft  with  money  feed  ; 


The  Second  Part,  behold, 
Shall  tell  it  forth  at  large  ; 

And  mall  a  {trumpets  wily  ways, 
With  all  her  tricks  difcharge. 

S4 


264  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 


THE     SECOND    PART, 

Young  Barnwel  here  comes  unto  thee, 

Sweet  Sarah,  my  delight, 
I  am  undone  except  thou  ftand 

My  faithful  friend  this  night, 

Our  matter  to  command  accounts, 

Hath  juft  occafion  found  ; 
And  I  am  found  behind  the  hand 

Almoft  two  hundred  pound  : 

And  therefor,  knowing  not  at  all 

What  anfwer  for  to  make, 
And  his  difpleafure  to  efcape, 

My  way  to  thee  I  take, 

Hoping  in  this  extremity  . 

Thou  wilt  my  fuccour  be, 
That  for  a  time  I  may  remain 

In  fafety  here  with  thee. 

With  that  fhe  knit  and  bent  her  brows, 

And  looking  ail  aquoy, 
Quoth  fhe,  what  fhould  I  have  to  do 

With  any  'prentice  boy  ? 


And 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  265 

And  feeing  you  have  purloin' d  and  got 

Your  matters  goods  away, 
The  cafe  is  bad,  and  therefor  here 

I  mean  thou  malt  not  ftay. 

Why,  fweetheart,  thou  know'ft,  he  faid, 

That  all  which  I  did  get, 
I  gave  it,  and  did  fpend  it  all, 

Upon  thee  every  whit. 

Thou  knoweft  I  loved  thee  fo  well, 
Thou  could'ft  not  aflc  the  thing, 
But  that  I  did,  incontinent, 
The  fame  unto  thee  bring. 

Quoth  me,  thou  art  a  paltry  jack, 

To  charge  me  in  this  fort, 
Being  a  woman  of  credit  good, 

And  known  of  good  report : 

And  therefor  this  I  tell  thee  fiat, 

Be  packing  with  good  fpeed  ; 
I  do  defy  thee  from  my  heart, 

And  fcorn  thy  filthy  deed. 

Is  this  the  love  and  friendmip,  which 

Thou  did'ft  to  me  '  profefs'  ? 
Is  this  the  great  affeaion  which 

You  feemed  to  exprefs  ? 

1,  22.  proteft,  O.  CC, 


466  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

Now  fye  on  all  deceitful  fhows, 

The  beft  is,  I  may  fpeed 
To  get  a  lodging  any  where 

For  money  in  my  need. 

Therefor,  falfe  woman,  now  farewell, 

While  twenty  pound  doth  laft, 
My  anchor  in  fome  other* haven 

I  will  with  wifdom  caft. 

When  fhe  perceived  by.  his  words 

That  he  had  money  ftore, 
That  fhe  had  gall'd  him  in  fuch  fort, 

It  griev'd  her  heart  full  fore  : 

Therefor  to  call  him  back  again 

She  did  fuppofe  it  beft, 
Stay,  George,  quoth  fhe,  thou  art  too  quick  ; 

Why,  man,  I  do  but  jeft. 

Think'ft  thou  for  all  my  pafled  fpeech, 

That  I  would  let  thee  go  ? 
Faith  no,  quoth  fhe,  my  love  to  thee 

I  wis  is  more  than  fo. 

You  will  not  deal  with  'prentice  boys, 

I  heard  you  even  now  fwear, 
Therefor  I  will  not  trouble  you. 

My  George,  hark  in  thine  ear: 


Thoa 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  267 

Th      flialt  not  go  to-night,  quoth  fhe, 

What  chance  foe'er  befall : 
But,  man,  we  11  have  a  bed  for  thee, 

Or  elfe  the  devil  take  all. 

Thus  I,  that  was  by  wiles  bewitch'd, 

And  fnar'd  with  fancy  ftill, 
Had  not  the  power  to  put  away, 

Or  to  witkftand  her  will. 

Then  wine  and  wine  I  called  in, 

And  cheer  upon  good  cheer  ; 
And  nothing  in  the  world  I  thought, 

For  Sarahs  love  too  dear, 

Whilft  I  was  in  her  company, 

In  joy  and  merriment ; 
And  all  too  little  I  did  think, 

That  I  upon  her  fpent. 

A  fig  for  care  and  careful  thoughts  ! 

When  all  my  gold  is  gone, 
In  faith,  my  girl,  we  will  have  more, 

Whoever  it  light  upon. 

My  father 's  rich,  why  then,  quoth  I, 

Should  I  want  any  gold  ? 
With  a  father,  indeed,  quoth  me, 

A  fon  may  well   be  bold. 

I  have 


A  N  C  I  E  N  T    B  A  LL  A  D  S. 

I  hare  a  fifter  richly  wed, 

I'll  rob  her  ere  I'll  want. 
Why  then,  quoth  Sarah,  they  may  well 

Confider  of  your  fcant. 

Nay,  more  than  this,  an  "uncle  I  have, 

At  Ludlow  he  doth  dwell : 
He  is  a  grazier,  which  in  wealth 

Doth  all  the  reft  excel!. 

Ere  I  will  live  in  lack,  quoth  he, 

And  have  no  coin  for  thee  ; 
I'll  rob  his  houfe,  and  murder  him. 

Why  mould  you  not  ?  quoth  fhe  : 

Ere  I  would  want,  were  I  a  man, 

Or  live  in  poor  eftate  ; 
On  father,  friends,  and  all  my  kin, 

I  would  my  talons  grate. 

For  without  money,  George,  quoth  ihe, 

A  man  is  but  a  beait: 
And  bringing  money,  thou  malt  be 

Always  my  chiefeft  gueft. 

For  fay  thou  Ihould'fl  purfued  be 

With  twenty  hues  and  cries, 
And  with  a  warrant  fearched  for 

With  Argus'  hundred  eyes : 


Vet 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  269 

Yet  in  my  houfe  thou  flialt  be  fafe  ; 

Such  privy  ways  there  be, 
That  if  they  fought  an  hundred  yean, 

They  could  not  find  out  thee. 

And  fo  caroufing  in  their  cups, 

Their  pleafures  to  content, 
George  Barnwel  had  in  little  ipace 

His  money  wholly  fpent. 

Which  being  done,  to  Ludlow  then 

He  did  provide  to  go, 
To  rob  his  wealthy  uncle  then, 

His  minion  would  it  fo. 

And  once  or  twice  he  thought  to  take 

His  father  by  the  way ; 
But  that  he  thought  his  matter  had 

Took  order  for  his  ftay  *. 

Dire£Uy  to  his  uncle  then 

He  rode  with  might  and  main, 
Where  with  welcome  and  good  cheer 

He  did  him  entertain. 

A  fe'nnights  fpace  he  flayed  there, 

Until  it  chanced  fo, 
His  uncle  with  his  cattle  did 

Unto  a  market  go. 

*  i,  c,  for  flopping  and  apprehending  htm  it  his  father*,    PERCY. 

His 


2;o  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

His  kinfman  needs  muft  ride  with  him  j 

And  when  he  faw  right  plain, 
Great  ftore  of  money  he  had  took, 

In  coming  home  again, 

Molt  fuddenly,  within  a  wood, 

He  ftruck  his  uncle  down, 
And  beat  his  brains  out  of  his  head  ; 

So  fore  he  crack'd  his  crown. 

And  fourfcore  pound,  in  ready  coin, 

'Out  of  his  purfe  he  took, 
And  coming  in  to  London  town, 

The  country  quite  forfook. 

To  Sarah  Milwood  then  he  came, 

Shewing  his  ftore  of  gold  j 
And  how  he  had  his  uncle  ilain, 

To  her  he  plainly  told. 

Tulh,  it's  no  matter,  George,  quoth  me, 

So  we  the  money  have, 
To  have  good  cheer  in  jolly  fort, 

And  deck  us  fine  and  brave. 


And  thus  they  lived  in  filthy  fort, 
Till  all  his  ftore  was  gone  : 

And  means  to  get  them  any  more, 
I  vvis  poor  George  had  none. 


And 


ANCIENT    BALL  ADS. 

And  therefor  now,  in  railing  fort, 

She  thruft  him  out  of  door : 
Which  is  the  juft  reward  they  get, 

That  fpend  upon  a  whore. 

Oh  !  do  me  not  this  foul  difgrace, 

In  this  my  need,  quoth  he. 
She  call'd  him  thief  and  murderer, 

With  all  defpite  might  be. 

And  to  the  conftable  (he  went, 

To  have  him  apprehended  ; 
And  fhew'd  in  each  degree  how  far 

He  had  the  law  offended. 

- 

When  Barnwel  faw  her  drift, 

To  fea  he  got  ftraightway ; 
Where  fear,  and  dread,  and  confcience  fling, 

Upon  himfelf  doth  flay. 

Unto  the  mayor  of  London  then, 

He  did  a  letter  write  ; 
Wherein  his  own  and  Sarahs  faults 

He  did  at  large  recite. 

Whereby  (he  apprehended  was, 

And  then  to  Ludlow  fent : 
Where  (he  v*   judg'd,  condemn'd,  and  hang'd, 

For  murdei,  incontinent. 


And 


272  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

And  there  this  gallant  quean  did  die, 

This  washergreateft  gains : 
For  murder,  in  Polonia 

Was  Barnwel  hang'd  in  chains. 

Lo  !  here's  the  end  of  wilful  youth, 

That  after  harlots  haunt ; 
Who,  in  the  fpoil  of  other  men, 

About  the  ftreets  do  flaunt. 


BALLAD    XV. 

r  HENRY  THE  SECOND  AND  THE.  MILLER  OF 
MANSFIELD. 

"ENRY  our  royal  king,  would  ride  a  hunting, 
AX     To  the  green  foreft,  fo  pleafant  and  fair  ; 
To  have  the  hart  chafed,  and  dainty  does  tripping  ; 

Unto  merry  Sherwood  his  nobles  repair  : 
Hawk  and  hound  was  unbound,  all  things  prepar'd 
For  the  fame,  to  the  game,  with  good  regard. 

All  a  long  fummers  day  rode  the  king  pleafantly, 

With  all  his  princes  and  nobles  each  one  ; 
Chafing  the  hart  and  hind,  and  the  buck  gallantly, 

Till  the  dark  evening  enforc'd  them  turn  home. 
Then  at  laft,  riding  fait,  he  had  loft  quite 
All  his  lords  in  the  wood,  late  in  dark  night. 

*\Vand'ring 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  275 

Wand'ring  thus  wearily,  all  alone,  up  and  down, 

With  a  rude  miller  he  met  at  the  laft  ; 
Aiking  the  ready  way  unto  fair  Nottingham, 

Sir,    quoth  the  miller,  your  way  you  have  loft  : 
Yet  I  think,  what  I  think,  truth  for  to  fay, 
You  do  not  likely  ride  out  of  your  way. 

Why,  what  doft  thou  think  of  me  ?  quoth  our  king  merrily, 

Faffing  thy  judgement  upon  me  fo  brief: 
Good  faith,  quoth  the  miller,  I  mean  not  to  flatter  thee  ; 

I  guefs  thee  to  be  but  fome  gentleman  thief: 
Stand  thee  back,  in  the  dark  ;  light  thee  not  down,          A 
Left  that  I  prefently  crack  thy  knaves  crown. 

Thou  doft  abufe  me  much,  quoth  our  king,  faying  thus : 

I  am  a  gentleman,  and  lodging  I  lack. 
Thou  haft  not,  quoth  the  miller,  one  groat  in  thy  purfe  ; 

All  thy  inheritance  hangs  on  thy  back. 
"  I  have  gold  to  difcharge  all  that  I  call ; 
If  it  be  forty  pence,  I  will  pay  all." 

If  thou  beeft  a  true  man,  then  faid  the  miller, 
I  fwear  by  my  toll-dim,  I'll  lodge  thee  all  night. 

Here's  my  hand,  quoth  the  king,  that  was  I  ever. 
Nay,  foft,  quoth  the  miller,  thou  may 'ft  be  a  fprite : 

Better  I'll  know  thee,  ere  hands  I  do  take  ; 

With  none  but  honeft  men  hands  will  I  ftakc. 

VOL.  U.  T 


. 

274  ANCIENT  -BALLADS. 

Thus  they  went  all  along  unto  the  millers  houfe, 

Where  they  were  feething  of  puddings  and  foufe  : 
•^  The  miller  firft  enter'd  in,  then  after  him  the  king  ; 

Never  came  he  in  fo  fmoky  a  houfe. 

Now,  quoth  he,  let  me  fee  here  what  you  are. 

Quoth  our  king,,  Look  your  fill,  and  do  not  fpare. 

"  I  like  well  thy  countenance,  thou  haft  an  hone/I  face  ; 

With  my  fon  Richard  this  night  thoufhalt  lie." 
«*.  r>-*^  /  Quoth  his  wife,  By  my  troth,  it  is  a  handfome  youth  ; 

Yet  it  is  beft,  hufband,  for  to  deal  warily  :     . 
Art  thou  not  a  run-away,  I  pray  thee,  yontb,  tell  ? 
Show  me  thy  pafsport,  and  all  ihall  be  well. 

Then  our  Icing  prefently,  making  low  courtefy, 
With  his  hat  in  his  hand,  thus  he  did  fay  : 

I  have  no  pafsport,  nor  never  was  fervltor  ; 
But  a  poor  courtier,  rode  out  of  my  way  ; 

And  for  your  kindnefs  here  offered  to  me, 

I  will  requite  it  in  every  degree. 


Then  to  the  miller  his  wife  whifper'd  feaetly, 
Saying,  It  feems,  this  youth's  of  good  kin, 

Both  by  his  apparel,  and  eke  by  his  manners  ; 
To  turn  him  out,  certainly  'twere  a  great  fin. 

Yea,  quoth  he,  you  may  fee,  he  hath  fome  grace, 
doth  fpeak  to  his  betters  in  place. 

I  Well, 


ANGIENT    BALLADS.  275 

Well,  quoth  the  millers  wife,  young  man,  welcome  here, 
And,  though  I  fay  it,  well  lodg'd  thou  malt  be  : 

Frefh  ftraw  I  will  have  laid  on  thy  bed  fo  brave,  ^  f^4 

Good  brown  hempen  meets  likewife,  quoth  me. 

Ay,  quoth  the  good  man  ;  and  when  that  is 

You  (hall  lie  with  no  worfe  than  our  own  fon. 


Nay,  fiift,  quoth  Richard,  good  fellow,  tell  me  true ; 

Haft  any  creepers  within  thy  gay  hofe  ? 
Or  art  thou  not  troubled  with  the  fcabado  ? 

I  pray  you,  quoth  the  king,  what  things  are  thofe  ? 
Art  thou  not  loufy,  nor  fcabby  ?  quoth  he  ; 
If  thou  be'ft,  furely  thou  Heft  not  with  me. 


This  caus'd  the  king  fuddenly  to  laugh  moft  heartily, 

Till  the  tears  trickled  down  from  his  eyes. 
/  Then  to  their  fupper  were  they  fet  orderly, 

With  a  hot  bag-pudding,  and  good  apple-pies; 
Nappy  ale,  flout  and  ftale,  in  a  brown  bowl, 
Which  did  abouuhe  board  merrily  troul. 

' 
/ 

Here,  quoth  the  miller,  good  felbw,  I  drink  to  thet, 

And  to.  all  courtnols  that  courteous  be. 
I'll  pledge  you,  quoth  our  king,  and  thank  you  heartily, 

For  your  good  welcome  in  every  degree  : 
And  here,  in  like  manner,  Til  drink  to  your  fon. 
Do  fo,  quoth  Richard  ;  but  quick  let  it  coma. 

Wife 


z?6  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

rvo  ?     Wife,  quoth  the  miller,  fetch  me  forth  Lightfoot, 
That  we  of  his  fweetnefs  a  little  may  tafte  : 

A  fair  venifon  party,  then  brought  ftie  forth  prefently  ; 
Eat,  quoth  the  miller  j  but,  fir,  make  no  wafte. 

Here'*  dainty  lightfoot,  in  faith,  faid  our  king  ; 

I  never  before  eat  fo  dainty  a  thing. 


I  wis,  faid  Richard,  no  dainty  at  all  it  is, 

For  we  do  eat  of  it  every  day. 
In  what  place,  faid  our  king,  may  be  bought  like  to  this  ? 

We  never  pay  penny  for  it,  by  my  fay  : 
From  merry  Sherwood  we  fetch  it  home  here  j 
Now  and  then  we  make  bold  with  our  kings  deer. 

ty+istfZ  f    Then  I  think,  faid  our  king,  that  it  is  venifon. 

Each  fool,  quoth  Richard,  full  well  may  fee  that  , 
Never  are  we  without  two  or  three  under  the  roof, 

Very  well  itemed,  and  excellent  fat : 
But,  pray  thee,  fay  nothing  where'er  thou  dofl  go  ; 
We  would  not,  for  two-pence,  the  king  mould  it  knowv 

Doubt  not,  then  faid  our  king,  my  promis'd  fecreoy  J. 

The  king  mail  never  know  more  on't  for  me. 
A  cup  of  lambswool  they  drank,  unto  him  then, 
^OA  And^to  their  beds  they  pafs'd  prefently. 

The  nobles^  next  morning,  went  all  up  and  down, 
For  to  feck  out  the  king,  in  every  town. 

At 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  277 

At  laft,  at  the  millers  houfe,  foon  they  efpied  him  plain, 

As  he  was  mounting  upon  his  fair  fteed  ; 
To  whom  they  came  prefently,  falling  down  on  their  knees ; 

Which  made  the  millers  heart  woefully  bleed  : 
Shaking  and  quaking  before  him  he  flood, 
Thinking  he  fhould  have  been  hang'd  by  the  rood. 

The  king  perceiving  him  fearful  and  trembling, 
Drew  forth  his  fword,  but  nothing  he  faid  : 

The  miller  down  did  fall,  crying  before  them  all, 
Doubting  the  king  would  have  cut  off  his  head  : 

But  his  kind  courtefy  there  to  requite, 

Gave  him  a  living  and  made  him  a  knight. 

THE      SECOND      PART. 

When  as  our  royal  king  came  home  from  Nottingham, 

And  with  his  nobles  at  Weftminfter  lay  ; 
Recounting  the  fports  and  paftimes  they  had  ta'en, 

In  this  late  progrefs  along  by  the  way ; 
Of  them  all,  great  and  fmall,  he  did  proteft, 
The  miller  of  Mansfi elds  /port  liked  him  bed. 

And  now,  my  lords,  quoth  the  king,  I  am  determined 
Againft  Saint  Georges  next  fumptuous  feaft, 

That  this  old  miller,  our  laft  confirmed  knight, 
With  his  fon  Richard,  (hall  both  be  my  gueft  : 

For,  in  this  merriment,  'tis  my  defire, 

To  talk  with  the  jolly  knight,  and  the  brave  fquire. 

T  3  When 


?8  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

When  as  the  noblemen  faw  the  kings  pleafantnefj. 
They  were  right  joyful  and  glad  in  their  hearts  j 

A  pur'fuivant  there  was  fent  ftraight  on  the  bufinefs, 
The  which  had  many  times  been  in  thofe  parts. 

When  he  came  to  the  place  where  he  did  dwell, 

His  meflage  orderly  then  he  did  tell. 


God  fave  your  worfhip,  then  faid  the  mefTenger, 

And  grant  your  lady  her  hearts  defire, 
And  to  your  fon  Richard  good  fortune  and  happinefs, 

That  fweet  young  gentleman,  and  gallant  young  fquire. 
Our  king  greets  you  all,  and  thus  doth  fay, 
You  muft  come  to  the  court  on  Saint  Georges  day. 

Therefor,  in  any  cafe,  fail  not  to  be  in  place. 

I  wis,  quoth  the  miller,  this  is  an  odd  jeft  : 
What  mould  we  do  there  ?  he  faid  :  faith,  I  am  half  afraid? 

I  doubt,  quoth  Richard,  be  hang'd  at  the  leaft. 
Nay,  quoth  the  meffenger,  you  do  miftake  ; 
Our  king  he  prepares  a  great  feaft  for  your  fake. 

Then  faid  the  miller,  Now  by  my  troth,  meflenger, 
Thou  haft  contented  my  worfhip  full  well. 

Hold,  here's  three  farthings,  to  quit  thy  great  gentlenefs, 
For  thefe  happy  tidings  which  thou  doft  me  tell. 

Let  me  fee,  hear'ft  thou  me  ?  tell  to  our  king, 

We'll  wait  on  his  mafterfhip  in  every  thing. 


The 


A  N  C  I  E  N  T    B  A  L  L  A  D  S.  279- 

The  purfuivant  fmiled  at  their  Simplicity, 
And,  making  many  legs,  took  their  reward  : 

And,  taking  then  his  leave  with  great  humility, 
To  the  kings  court  again  he  repair'd  ; 

Shewing  unto  his  grace,  in  each  degree, 

The  knights  moft  liberal  gift  and  bounty. 

When  as  he  was  gone  away,  thus  did  the  miller  fay  : 
Here  comes  expences  and  charges  indeed  ; 

Now  we  muft  needs  be  brave,  though  we  fpend  all  we  have  ; 
For  of  new  garments  we  have  great  need  : 

Of  horfes  and  ferving-men  we  muft  have  flore, 

With  bridles  and  faddles,  and  twenty  things  more. 

Turn,  fir  John,  quoth  his  wife,  neither  do  fret  nor  frown  ; 

You  mail  be  at  no  more  charges  for  me, 
For  I  will  turn  and  trim  up  my  old  ruflet  gown, 

With  every  thing  as  fine  as  may  be  ; 
And  on  our  mill-horfes  full  fwift  we  will  ride, 
With  pillows  and  pannels  as  we  mall  provide. 

In  this  moft  ftately  fort,  rode  they  unto  the  court, 
Their  jolly  fon  Richard  foremoft  of  all  ; 

Who  fet  up,  by  good  hap,  a  cocks  feather  in  his  cap; 
And  fo  they  jetted  down  towards  the  kings  hall  : 

The  merry  old  miller,  with  his  hand  on  his  fide  ; 

His  wife,  like  maid  Marian,  did  mince  at  that  tide. 


T  4 


280  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

The  king  and  his  nobles,  that  heard  of  their  coming, 
Meeting  this  gallant  knight,  with  his  brave  train  ; 

Welcome,  fir  knight,  quoth  he,  with  this  your  gay  lady  ; 
Good  fir  John  Cockle,  once  welcome  again  : 

And  fo  is  the  fquire,  of  courage  fo  free. 

Quoth  Dick,  A  bots  on  you  ;  do  you  know  me  ? 

Quoth  our  king  gently,  How  mould  I  forget  thee  ? 

Thou  waft  mine  own  bed  fellow,  well  that  I  wot. 
««  But  I  do  think  on  a  trick." — Tell  me  that,  prithee  Dick, 

«'  How  we  with  farcing  did  make  the  bed  hot." 
Thou  whorefon,  happy  knave,  then  quoth  the  knight, 
Speak  cleanly  to  our  king,  or  elfe  go  flute. 

The  king  and  his  counfellors  heartily  laugh'd  at  this, 
While  the  king  took  them  both  by  the  hand  j 

With  ladies  and  their  maids,  like  to  the  Queen  of  Spades, 
The  millers  wife  did  fo  orderly  ftand : 

A  milk  maids  curtefy  at  every  word  ; 

And  down  the  folks  were  fet  at  the  fids-board  ; 

^  Wh<re  the  king  royally,  in  princely  majefty, 

Sate  at  his  dinner  with  joy  and  delight : 
When  he  had  eaten  well,  to  jelling  then  «he'  fell, 

Taking  a  bowl  of  wine,  drank  to  the  knight  : 
Here'*  to  you  both,  he  faid,  in  wire,  ale  and  beer* 
Thanking  you  all  for  your  country  cheer. 

Quoth 


A  N  C  I  E  N  T    B  A  L  L  A  D  S.  281 

Quoth  fir  John  Cockle,  I'll  pledge  you  a  pottle, 

Were  it  the  belt  ale  in  Nottinghamfhire  : 
But,  then  faid  our  king,  I  do  think  of  a  thing  ; 

Some  of  your  light-foot  I  would  we  had  here. 
Ho,  ho,  quoth  Richard,  full  well  I  may  fay  it, 
'Tis  knavery  to  eat  it,  and  then  to  bewray  it. 

Why,  art  thou  angry  ?  quoth  our  king  merrily ; 

In  faith,  I  take  it  very  unkind  : 
I  thought  thou  would'ft  pledge  me  in  ale  and  wine  heartily. 

Y'are  like  to  ftay,  quoth  Dick,  till  I  have  din'd  : 
You  feed  us  with  twattling  difhes  fo  fmall ; 
Zounds,  a  black-pudding  is  better  than  all. 

Ay,  marry,  quoth  our  king,  that  were  a  dainty  thing, 

If  a  man  could  get  one  here  for  to  eat. 
With  that  Dick  ftraight  arofe,  and  pluck'd  one  out  of  nil 
hofe, 

Which  with  heat  of  his  breech  began  to  fweat. 
The  king  made  a  proffer  to  fnatch  it  away  : 
*'  'Tis  meat  for  your  mafter  :  good  fir,  you  muft  flay." 

THus  with  great  merriment,  was  the  time  wholly  fpent  j 

And  then  the  ladies  prepared  to  dance  : 
Old  fir  John  Cockle,  and  Richard,  incontinent, 

Unto  this  pradtice  the  king  did  advance  : 
Here  with  the  ladies  fuch  fport  they  did  make, 
The  nobles  with  laughing  did  make  their  hearts  ake. 

Many 


28*.  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

Many  thanks  for  their  pains  did  the  king  give  them  then, 
Alking  young  Richard,  if  he  would  wed  : 

"  Among  thofe  ladies  free,  tell  me  which  liketh  thec  ?" 
Quoth  he,  Jug  Grumball,  with  the  red  head  ; 

She's  my  love,  (he's  my  life,  fhe  will  I  wed  ; 

She  hath  fworn  I  Ihall  have  her  maidenhead. 

Then  fir  John  Cockle  the  king  called  unto  him, 
And  of  merry  Sherwood  made  him  overfeer; 

And  gave  him  out  of  hand  three  hundred  pound  yearly  y 
But  now  take  heed  you  fteal  no  more  of  my  deer : 

And  once  a  quarter  let's  here  have  your  view  ; 

And  thus,  fir  John  Cockle,  I  bid  you  adieu. 


I'll  tell  you  a  ftory,  a  ftory  anon, 
Of  a  noble  prince,  and  his  name  was  King  John ; 
For  he  was  a  prince,  and  a  prince  of  great  might, 
He  held  up  great  wrongs,  and  he  put  down  great  right. 

Derry  down,  down,  hey  derry  dow*. 

I'll  tell  you  a  flory,  a  ftory  fo  merry, 
Concerning  the  abbot  of  Canterbury, 
And  of  Irs  houfe  keeping  and  high  renown, 
Which  made  him  repair  to  fair  London  town. 

Derry  down,  &c. 

How 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  283 

How  now,  brother  abbot !  'tis  told  unto  me, 
That  thou  keepeft  a  far  better  houfe  than  I; 
And  for  thy  houfe  keeping  and  high  renown, 
J  fear  thou  haft  treafon  againft  my  crown. 

Derry  down,  &c. 

I  hope,  my  liege,  that  you  owe  me  no  grudge, 
For  fpending  of  my  true  gotten  goods. 
If  thou  doft  not  anfwer  me  queftions  three, 
Thy  head  mall  be  taken  from  thy  body. 

Derry  down,  &c. 

When  I  am  fet  '  fo  high  on  my  fteed,' 
With  my  crown  of  gold  upon  my  head, 
Amongft  all  my  nobility,  with  joy  and  much  mirth, 
Thou  muft  tell  me  to  one  penny  what  I  am  worth. 

Derry  down,  &c« 

And  the  next  queftion  'thou'  muft  not  flout, 
How  long  I  mall  be  riding  the  world  about ; 
And  [at]  the  third  queftion  thou  muft  not  fhrink, 
But  tell  to  me  truly  what  I  do  think. 

Derry  down,  &C, 

O   thefe  are  hard  queftions  for  my  mallow  wit, 
For  I  cannot  anfwer  your  grace  as  yet, 
But  if  you  will  give  me  but  three  days  fpace, 
I'll  do  my  endeavour  to  arifwer  your  grace. 

Derry  down,  &c. 

O  three 


284  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

O  three  days  fpace  I  will  thee  give, 

For  that  is  the  longeft  day  thou  haft  to  live ; 

And  if  thou  doft  not  anfwer  thefe  queftions  right, 

Thy  head  fhall  be  taken  from  thy  body  quite. 

Derry  down,  &c. 

And  as  the  old  fhepherd  was  going  to  his  fold, 
He  fpied  the  old  abbot  come  riding  along, 
How  now,  matter  abbot !  you're  welcome  home  : 
What  news  have  you  brought  us  from  good  King  John  ? 

Derry  down,  &c. 

Sad  news,  fad  news,  I  have  thee  to  give, 
For  I  have  but  three  days  fpace  to  live ; 
If  I  do  not  anfwer  him  queftions  three, 
My  head  will  be  taken  from  my  body. 

Derry  down,  &c. 

When  he  is  fet  « fo  high  on  his  fteed,' 

With  his  crown  of  gold  upon  his  head, 

Amongft  all  his  nobility,  with  joy  and  much  mirth, 

I  muft  tell  him   to  one  penny  what  he  is   worth. 

Derry  down,  &c. 

And  the  next  queftion  I  muft  not  flout, 
How  long  he  (hall  be  riding  the  world  about; 
And  [at]  the  third  queftion  I  muft  not  Ihrink. 
But  tell  him  truly  what  he  does  think. 

Derry  down,  &c. 

O  mafter, 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  285 

O  mailer,  did  you  never  hear  it  yet, 
That  a  fool  may  learn    a  wife  man  wit ; 
Lend  me  but  your  horfe  and  your  apparel, 
I'll  ride  to  fair  London  and  anfwer  the  quarrel. 

Deny  down,  &c. 

Now  I  am  fet '  fo  high  on  my  fteed,' 
With  my  crown  of  gold  upon  my  head, 
Amongft  all  my  nobility,  with  joy  and  much  mirth, 
Now  tell  me,  to  one  penny,  what  I  am  worth. 

Derry  down,  &c. 

For  thirty  pence  our  faviour  was  fold, 
Amongft  the  falfe  Jews,  as  I  have  been  told, 
And  nine  and  twenty's  the  worth  of  thee, 
For  I  think  thou  art  one  penny  worfer  than  he. 

Derry  down,  &c. 

And  the  next  queftion  thou  mayeft  not  flout, 
How  long  I  mall  be  riding  the  world  about. 
You  muft  rife  with  the  fun  and  ride  with  the  fame 
Until  the  next  morning  he  rifes  again ; 
And  then  I  am  fure,  you  will  make  no  doubt, 
But  in  twenty-four  hours  you'll  ride  it  about. 

Derry  down,  &c. 

And  [at]  the  third  queftion  thou  muft  not  fhrink, 
But  tell  to  me  truly  what  I  do  think. 
All  that  I  can  do,  and  'twill  make  your  grace  merry, 
For  you  think  I'm  the  abbot  of  Canterbury ; 

But 


A  N  C.I  E  NT    BALLADS. 

But  I'm  his  poor  fhepherd,  as  you  may  fee, 

And  am  come  to  teg  pardon  for  *  him '  and  for  me. 

Derry  down,  &c. 

The  king  he  turn'd  him  about  and  did  fmile, 
Saying,  thou  lhalt  be  the  abbot  the  other  while. 
O  no,  my  grace,  there  is  no  fuch  need, 
For  I  can  neither  write  nor  read. 

Derry  down,  &c. 

Then  four  pounds  a  week  will  1  give  unto  thee, 
For  this  merry  true  jeft  thou  haft  told  unto  me  j 
And  tell  the  old  abbot  when  thou  comeft  home, 
Thou  haft  brought  him  a  pardon  from  good  King  John. 

Derry  down,  &c. 


BALLAD    XVII. 

THE    SCOTCHMAN     OUTWITTED    BY    THE 
FARMERS    DAUGHTER. 

CO L D  and  raw  the  North  did  blow. 
Bleak  in  the  morning  early, 
All  the  hills  were  hid  with  fnow, 

Cover 'd  with  winter  yearly  ; 
As  I  was  riding  o'er  the  flough, 

I  met  with  a  farmers  daughter, 
Rofy  cheeks,  and  a  bonny  brow, 
Good  faith  my  mouth  did  water. 

Dowa 


A  N  C  I  E  N  T    B  A  L  I  A  D  5.  ^ 

Down  I  vail'd  my  bonnet  low, 

Meaning  to  fhow  my  breeding  ; 
She  return'd  a  graceful  bow, 

Her  vifage  far  exceeding  : 
I  afk'd  her  where  Ihe  was  going  fo  foon, 

And  long'd  to  hold  a  parley  ; 
She  told  me,  to  the  next  market-town, 

On  purpofe  to  fell  her  barley. 

In  this  purfe,  fweet  foul,  faid  I, 

Twenty  pounds  lies  fairly, 
Seek  no  further  one  to  buy, 

For  Ife  take  all  thy  barley  : 
Twenty  pound  more  fhall  purchafe  delight, 

Thy  perfon  I  love  fo  dearly, 
If  thou  wilt  lig  with  me  all  night, 

And  gang  home  in  the  morning  early, 

If  forty  pound  would  buy  the  globe, 

This  thing  I  would  not  do,  fir, 
Or  were  my  friends  as  poor  as  Job, 

I'd  never  raife  'em  fo,  fir ; 
For  mould  you  prove  one  night  my  friend, 

Wefe  get  a  young  kid  together, 
And  you'd  be  gone  ere  nine  months  end, 

Then  where  mould  I  find  the  father  / 

Pray,  what  would  my  parents  fay, 

If  I  mould  befo  filly 
To  give  my  maidenhead  away, 

And  lofe  my  true  love  Billy  ? 

Oh, 


ANCIENT    BALLAD  5. 

Oh,  this  would  bring  me  to  disgrace, 

And  therefor  I  fay  you  nay,  fir : 
And  if  that  you  would  me  embrace, 

Firft  marry,  and  then  you  may,  fir. 

I  told  her,  I  had  wedded  been 

Fourteen  years,  and  longer, 
Elfe  I'd  choofe  her  for  my  queen, 

And  tie  the  knot  more  ftronger. 
She  bid  me  then  no  farther  come, 

But  manage  my  wedlock  fairly, 
And  keep  my  purfe  for  poor  fpoufe  at  home. 

For  fome  other  fliould  buy  her  barley. 

Then,  as  fwift  as  any  roe, 

She  rode  away  and  left  me ; 
After  her  I  could  not  go, 

Of  joy  (he  quite  bereft  me : 
Thus  I  myfelf  did  difappoint, 

For  fiie  did  leave  me  fairly  ; 
My  words  knock'd  all  things  out  of  joint, 

I  loft  both  maid  and  barley. 

Riding  down  a  narrow  lane, 

Some  two  or  three  hours  after, 
There  I  chanc'd  to  meet  again 

This  farmers  bonny  daughter  : 
Although  it  was  both  raw  and  cold, 

I  ftay'd  to  hold  a  parley, 
And  fhow'd  once  more  my  purfe  of  gold, 

When  as  (he  had  fold  her  barley. 


Love, 


289 

Love,  faid  I,  pray  do  not  frown, 

But  let  us  change  embraces, 
I'll  buy  thee  a  fine  filken  gown, 

With  ribbons,  gloves,  and  laces* 
A  ring  and  bodkin,  muff  and  fan, 

No  lady  fhall  have  neater  ; 
For,  as  I  am  an  hone  ft  man, 

I  ne'er  faw  a  fweeter  creature. 

Then  I  took  her  by  the  hand, 

And  faid,  My  deareft  jewel, 
Why  fhould'ft  thou  thus  difputing  ftand  ? 

I  prithee  be  not  cruel. 
She  found  my  mind  was  wholly  bent 

To  pleafure  my  fond  defire, 
Therefor  me  feemed  to  confent, 

But  I  wiih  I  had  never  come  nigh  her. 

Sir,  faid  me,  what  mail  I  do, 

If  I  commit  this   evil, 
And  yield  myfelfin  love  with  you  ? 

I  hope  you  will  prove  civil. 
You  talk  of  ribbons,  gloves,  and  rings. 

And  likewife  gold  and  treafure  ; 
Oh,  let  me  firft  enjoy  thofe  things, 

And  then  you  fhall  have  your  pleafure. 

Sure  thy  will  fhall  be  obey'd, 

Said  I,  my  own  dear  honey. 
Then  into  her  lap  I  laid 

Full  forty  pounds  in  money  ; 

Vot.  II.  U  We'll 


290 

We'll  to  the  market-town  this  day, 
And  ftraightway  end  this  quarrel, 

And  deck  thee  like  a  lady  gay, 
In  flourifhing  rich  apparel. 

All  my  gold  and  filver  there 

To  her  I  did  deliver  ; 
On  the  road  we  did  repair, 

Out-coming  to  a  river, 
Whofe  waters  are  both  deep  and  wide, 

Such  rivers  I  ne'er  fee  many, 
She  leap'd  her  mare  on  the  other  fide, 

And  left  me  not  one  penny. 

Then  my  heart  was  funk  full  low, 

With  grief  and  care   furrounded, 
After  her  I  could  not  go, 

For  fear  of  being  drowned. 
She  turn'd  about,  and  faid,  Behold, 

I  am  not  for  your  devotion  ; 
But,  fir,  I  thank  you  for  your  gold, 

'Twill  ferve  to  enlarge  my  portion. 

I  began  to  (lamp  and  ftare, 

To  fee  what  fhe  had  aded ; 
With  my  hands  I  tore  my  hair. 

Like  one  that  was  diftrac"ted  : 
Give  me  my  money,  then  I  cried, 

Good  faith  I  did  but  lend  it. 
But  me  full  faft  away  did  ride, 

And  vow'd  flie  did  not  intend  it. 


BAL- 


A  N  C  I  £  N  T    B  A  L  L  A  D  S.  291 

BALLAD    XVIII. 
SIR    LANCELOT   D  U    LAKE* 

WHEN  Arthur  firft  in  court  began, 
And  was  approved  king  J 
By  force  of  arms  great  victories  won, 
And  conqueft  home  did  bring  j 

Then  into  Britain  ftraight  he  came, 

Where  fifty  good  and  able 
Knights  then  repaired  unto  him, 
Which  were  of  the  Round  Table. 

And  many  julis  and  tournaments 

Before  him  there  were  preft, 
Wherein  thefe  knights  did  then  excell, 

And  far  furmount  ,he  reft. 

But  one  Sir  Lancelot  du  Lake, 

Who  was  approved  well, 
He,  in  his  fights  and  deeds  of  arms, 

All  others  did  excell. 

When  he  had  retted  him   a  while, 

To  play,  and  game,  and  fport ; 
He  thought  he  would  approve  himfelf 

In  fome  advent'rous  fort  : 

*  The  title  of  the  old  copies  is,  but  very  improperly,  "  The  npble 
achievements  of  king  Arthur,  and  his  knights  of  the  round  table.  To 
the  tune  of  Flying  Fame." 

U  a  He 


292  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

He  armed  rode  in  foreft  wide, 

And  met  a  damfcl  fair, 
Who  told  him  of  adventures  great  ; 

Whereto  he  gave  good  ear. 

Why  mould  not  I  ?  quoth  Lancelot  tho, 

For  that  caufe  came  I  hither. 
Thou  feem'ft,  quoth  me,  a  knight  right  good, 

And  I  will  bring  thee  thither, 

Whereas  the  mightieft  knight  doth  dwell, 

That  now  is  of  great  fame : 
Wherefbr  tell  me  what  knight  thou  art  ; 

And  then  what  is  thy  name. 

"  My  name  is  Lancelot  du  Lake.** 

Quoth  me,  It  likes  me,  then  ; 
Here  dwells  a  knight  that  never  wa» 

O'ermatch'd  of  any  man ; 

Who  hath  in  prifon  threefcore  knighto 
And  four,  that  he  hath  bound ; 

Knights  of  King  Arthurs  court  they  be, 
And  of  the  Table  Round. 

She  brought  him  to  a  river  then, 

And  alfo  to  a  tree, 
Whereas  a  copper  bafon  hung, 

His  fellows  ftiields  to  fee. 


ANCIENT    BALLAD  S.  293 

He  ftruck  fo  hard,  the  bafon  broke  : 

When  Tarquin  heard  the  found, 
He  drove  a  horfe  before  him  ftraight, 

Whereon  a  knight  was  bound. 

Sir  knight,  then  faid  Sir  Lancelot, 

Bring  me  that  horfe  load  hither, 
And  lay  him  down,  and  let  him  reft  ; 

We'll  try  our  force  together : 

For,  as  I  underftand,  thou  haft, 

As  far  as  thou  art  able,  , 

Done  great  defpite  and  mame  unto 
The  knights  of  the  Round  Table. . 

If  thou  art  of  the  Table  Round, 

Quoth  Tarquin  fpeedily, 
Both  thee,  and  all  thy  fellowflup,  « 

I  utterly  defy. 

That's  over  much,  quoth  Lancelot  tho ; 

Defend  thee  by  and  by. 
They  put  their  fpurs  unto  their  fteeds, 

And  each  at  other  fly. 

They  couch'd  their  fpears,  and  horfes  run, 

As  though  they  had  been  thunder ; 
And  each  ftruck  then  upon  the  fhield, 

Wherewith  they  brake  afunder. 

U  3  Their 


^9^  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

Their  horfes  backs  brake  under  them  ; 

The  knights  they  were  altound  : 
To  avoid  their  horfes  they  made  hafte 

To  light  upon  the  ground. 

They  took  them  to  their  fhields    full  faftt 

Their  fwords  they  drew  out  then  ; 
With  mighty  ftrokes  moft  eagerly 

Each  one  at  other  run. 

They  wounded  were,  and  bled  full  fore, 
For  breath  they  both  did  ftand  ; 

And  leaning  on  their  fwords  a  while, 
Quoth  Tarquin,  Hold  thy  hand  $ 

And  tell  to  me  what  I  fliall  afk. 

Say  on,  quoth  Lancelot  tho. 
Thou  art,  quoth  Tarquin,  the  beft  knight 

That  ever  I  did  know  ; 

And  like  a  knight  that  I  did  hate  ; 

So  that  thou  be  not  he, 
I  will  deliver  all  the  reft,. 

And  eke  accord  with  thee* 

That  is  well  faid,  quoth  Lancelot  then  \ 

But  fijh  it  fp  muft  be, 
What  is  the  knight  thou'  hatefl  thus, 

I  pray  thee  fhow  to  me  ? 


Kit 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

His  name  is  Lancelot  du  Lake  ; 

He  flew  my  brother  dear  ; 
Him  I  fufpeft  of  all  the  reft  : 

I  would  I  had  him  here. 

"  Thy  wim   thou  haft,    but  now  unknown  ; 

I  am  Lancelot  du  Lake, 
Now  knight  of  Arthurs  table  round, 

King  Hands  fon  of  Benwake  : 

And  I  defy  thee,  do  thy  worft." 

Ha,  ha,  quoth  Tarquin  tho, 
One  of  us  two  (hall  end  our  lives, 

Before  that  we  do  go. 

If  thou  be  Lancelot  du  Lake, 

Then  welcome  fhalt  thou  be  ; 
Wherefor  fee  thou  thyfelf  defend, 

For  now  I  defy  thee. 

They  hurled  then  together  faft, 
Like  two  wild  boars  fo  rafhing, 

And  with  their  fwords  and  fhields  they  ran 
At  one  another  flaftring: 

The  ground  befprinkled  was  with  blood, 

Tarquin  began  to  faint  ; 
For  he  had  back'd,  and  bore  his  fhield 
So  low,  he  did  repent. 


U  4  Which 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

Which  Toon  efpied  Lancelot  tho ; 

He  leap'd  upon  him  then, 
He  pull'd  him  down  upon  his  knee, 

And  rufhed  off  his  helm  j 

And  then  [he]   ftruck  his  neck  in  two : 

And,  when  he  had  done  fo, 
From  prifon  threefcore  knights  and  four 

Lancelot  deliver'd  tho. 


BALLAD    XIX. 

SIR    GUY    OF    WAR  WICK.* 

WA  S  ever  knight,  for  ladys  fake, 
So  tofs'd  in  love,  as  I,  Sir  Guy, 
For  Phillis  fair,  that  lady   bright 

As  ever  man  beheld  with  eye  ? 
She  gave  me  leave  myfelf  to  try, 

The  valiant  knight  with   ftiield  and   fpear. 
Ere  that  her  love  me  would  grant  me ; 
Which  made  me  venture  far  and  near. 


*  The  full  title  5s,  «  A  pleafant  fong  of  the  valiant  deeds  of  chivalry 
atchieved  by  that  noble  knight,  Sir  Guy  of  Warwick,  who  for  the  love  of 
Fair  Phillis  became  a  hermet,  and  died  in  a  cave  of  a  craggy  rock  a 
tnile  diftan^  from  Warwick.  Tune,  Was  ever  Man,  &c." 


The 


A  N  C  I  E  N  T    B  A  L  L  A  t>  S.  297 

The  proud  Sir  Guy,  a  baron   bold, 

In  deeds  of  arms  the  doughty  knight, 
That  every  day  in  England  was, 

With  fword  and  fpear  in  field  to  fight ; 
An  Englifh  man  I  was   by  birth, 

In  faith  of  Chrift  a  Chriftian  true  ; 
The  wicked  laws  of  infidels 

I  fought   by   power  to   fubdue. 

Two  hundred  twenty  years,  and  odd 

After  our  faviour  Chrift  his  birth, 
When  king  Aihelftan  wore   the  crown, 

I  lived  here  upon  the  earth. 
Sometime  I    was   of  Warwick  earl, 

And,  as  I  faid,  on  very  truth, 
A  ladys  love  did  me  conftrain 

To  feek  ftrange  ventures  in  my  youth  : 

X 

To  try  my  fame  by  feats  of  arms, 

In  ftrange  and  fundry  heathen  lands; 
Where  I  atchieved,  for  her  fake, 

Right  dangerous  conquefts  with  my  hand?. 
For  firft  I  fail'd  to  Normandy, 

And  there  I  ftoutly  won  in   fight, 
The  emperours  daughter  of  Almain, 

From  many  a  valiant  worthy  knight, 

Then  paffed  I  the  feas   of  Greece, 

To  help  the  emperour  to  his  right, 
Againft  the  mighty   foldans   hofl 

Of  puiflant  Persians  for  to  fight : 

Where 


Z98  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

Where  I  did  flay  of  Saracens, 
And  heathen  pagans,  many  a  man, 

And  flew  the  foldans  coufin  dear, 
Who  had  to  name,  doughty  Colbrdn. 

Ezkeldered,  that  famous  knight, 

To  death  likewife  I   did   purfue, 
And  Almain,  king  of  Tyre,  alfo, 

Moft  terrible  too  in  fight  to  view  : 
I  went  into  the  foldans  hoft, 

Being  thither  on  ambaflage  fent, 
And  brought  away  his  head  with  me, 

I  having  flain   him   in  his  tent. 

There  was  a  dragon  in  the  land, 

Which  I  alfo  myfelf  did   flay, 
As  he  a  lion  did  purfue, 

Moft  fiercely  met  me  by  the  way. 
From  thence  I  pafs'd  the  feas  of  Greece, 

And  came  to  Pavy  land  aright, 
Where  I  the  duke  of  Pavy  kill'd, 

His  heinous  treafoji  to  requite. 

And  after  came  into  this  land, 

Towards  fair  Phillis,  lady  bright  ; 
For  love  of  whom  I  travel'd  far, 

To  try  my  manhood  and  my  might. 
But  when  I  had  efpoufed  her, 

I  ftay'd  with  her  but  forty  days, 
But  there  I  left  this  lady  fair, 

And  then  I  went  beyond  the  feas. 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  399 

AH  clad  in  gray,  in  pilgrim  fort, 

My  voyage  from  her  I  did  take, 
Unto   that    blefled  holy  land, 

For  Jefus  Chrift  my  faviours  fake  : 
Where  I  earl  Jonas  did  redeem, 

And  all  his,  fons,  which  were  fifteen, 
Who  with  the  cruel  Saracen, 

In  prifon  for  long  time  had  been. 

I  flew  the  giant  Amarant, 

In  battle  fiercely  hand  to  hand  : 
And  doughty  Barknard  killed  I, 

The  mighty  duke  of  that  fame  land. 
Then  I  to  England  came  again, 

And  her$  with  Colbron  fell  I  fought, 
An  ugly  giant,  which  the  Danes 

Had  for  their  champion  hither  brought. 

J  overcame  him  in  the  field, 

And  flew  him  dead  right  valiantly  ; 
Where  I  the  land  did  then  redeem 

From  Danifh  tribute  utterly  ; 
And  afterwards  I  offered   up 

The  ufe  of  weapons  folemnly, 
At  Winchefter,  whereas  I  fought, 

Jn  fight  of  many  far  and  nigh. 

In  Windfor-foreft  I  did  flay 

A  boar  of  pafling  might  and  ftrength  ; 

The  like  in  England  never  was, 

For  hugenefs,    both  in  breadth  and  length. 

Some 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

Some  of  his  bones  in  Warwick,  yet, 

Within  the  caftle  there,  do  lie  ; 
Oae  of  his  ftiield-bbnes,  to  this  day, 

Hangs  in  the  city  of  Coventry. 

On  Dunfmore-heath  I  alfo  flew 

A  monftrous,  wild,  and  cruel  beaft, 
Call'd  the  dun-cow  of  Dunfmore-heath  ; 

Which  many  people  had  opprefs'd : 
Some  of  her  bones  in  Warwick,   yet, 

Still  for  a  monument  doth  lie  ; 
Which,  unto 'every  lookers  view, 

As  wond'rous  ftrange,  they  may  efpy. 

Another  dragon  in   the  land, 

I  alfo  did  in  fight  deftroy, 
Which  did  both  men  and   beafts  opprefs, 

And  all  the   country  fore   annoy. 
And  then  to  Warwick  came  again, 

Like  pilgrim  poor,  and  was  not  known* 
And  there  I  liv'd  a  hermits  life, 

A  mile  and  more  out  of  the  town. 

Where,  with  my  hand,  I  hew'd  a  houfe, 

Out  of  a  craggy  rock  of  ftone  ; 
And  lived  like  a  palmer  poor, 

Within  that   cave,  myfelf  alone  ; 
And  dayly  came  to  beg  my  food 

Of'Phillis,  at  my  caftle-gate, 
Not  known   unto   my  loving  wife, 

Who  dayly  mourned  for  her  mate. 

Till 


ANCIENT    B  A-L  L  A  D  S.  .^ 

Till  at  the  laft  I  fell  fore  fick, 

Yea,  fick  fo  fore  that  I  muft  die  ; 
I  fent  to  her  a  ring  of  gold, 
,   By  which   me  knew  me  prefently. 
Then  fhe  repaired  to  the  cave, 

Before  that  I  gave  up  the  ghoft  ; 
Merfelf  clos'd  up  my  dying  eyes  : 

My  Phillis  fair,  whom  I  loy'd  moft. 

Thus   dreadful  Death  did  me  arreft, 

To  bring  my  corpfe  unto  the  grave  ; 
And  like  a  palmer  died  I, 

Whereby  I  hope  my  foul  to  fave. 
My  body  in  Warwick  yet  doth  lie, 

Though  now  it  is  confum'd  to  mold  5 
My  ftature  was  engraven  in   ftone, 

This  prefent  day  you  may   behold. 

BALLAD      XX. 
THE  HONOUR  OF  A  LONDON  PRENTICE. 

OF  a  worthy    London  prentice 
My  purpofe  is  to  fpeak, 
And  tell  his  brave  adventures 
Done  for  his  countrys  fake : 
Seek  all  the  world  about, 

And  you   mall  hardly   find 
A  man  in  valour  to  exceed 
A  prentice*  gallant  mind. 

He 


3oz  ANCIENT     BALLADS* 

He  was  born  [and  bred]  in  Chefhirfc, 

The  chief  of  men  was  he, 
From  thence  brought  up   to  London, 

A  prentice  for  to  be. 
A  merchant' on  the  bridge 

Did  like  his  fervice  fo, 
That,  for  three  years,  his  faftor 

To  Turkey  he   mould  go. 

And  in  that  famous  country 

One  year  he  had  not  been, 
Ere  he  by  tilt  maintained 

The  honour  of  his  queen  ; 
Elizabeth  his  princefs 

He  nobly  did  make  known, 
To  be  the  phoenix  of  the   world, 

And  none  but  me  alone. 

In  armour  richly  gilded, 

Well  mounted  on  a   fteed, 
.One  fcore  of  knights  moft  hardy 

One  day   he  made  to  bleed; 
And  brought  them  all  to  ground, 

Who  proudly  did  deny 
Elizabeth  to  be  the  pearl 

Of  princely  majefty. 

The  king  of  that'fajne  country 

Thereat  began  to  frown, 
And  will'd  his   fon,  there  prefent, 

To  pull  this  youngfter  down ; 

Who, 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  30^ 

Who,   at  his  fathers  words, 

Thefe  boafting  fpeeches  faid, 
Thou  art  a  traitor,  Englifh  boy, 

And  haft  the  traitor  play'd. 

"  I  am  no  boy,  nor  traitor, 

Thy  fpeeches   I  defy, 
For  which  I'll  be  revenged 

Upon  thee,  by  and  by; 
A  London  prentice  flill 

Shall  prove  as  good  a  man, 
As  any  of  your  Turkifh  knights, 

Do  all  the  beil  you  can." 

And  therewithall  he  gave  him 

A   box  upon  the  ear, 
Which  broke  his   neck   afunder, 

As  plainly   doth  appear. 
Now  know,  proud  Turk,  quoth  he, 

I  am  no  Englifh   boy, 
That  can,   with  one  fmall  box  o'   th1  car, 

The  prince  of  Turks  deflroy. 

When  as  the  king  perceived 

His  fon   fo   ftrangely  flam, 
His  foul  was  fore  afflidled, 

With  more  than  mortal  pain  ; 
And,  in  revenge  thereof, 

He  fwore  that  he  fhould  die 
The  crueFft  death  that  ever  man 

Beheld  with  mortal   eye. 

Two 


Two  lions  were  prepared 

This  prentice  to  devour, 
Near  famifh'd  up  with  hunger, 

Ten  days  within  a  tower, 
To  make  them  far  more  fierce, 

And  eager  of  their  prey, 
To  glut  themfelves  with  human  gore* 

Upon  this  dreadful  day. 

The  appointed  time  of  torment 

At  length  grew  nigh  at  hand, 
Where  all  the  noble  ladies 

And  barons  of  the  land 
Attended  on  the  king, 

To  fee  this  prentice  flain, 
And  buried  in  the  hungry  maws 

Of  thofe  fierce  lions  twain. 

Then  in  his  ftiirt  of  cambric, 

With  filk  moft  richly  wrought, 
This  worthy  London  prentice 

Was  from  the  prifon  brought, 
And  to  the  lions  given 

To  ftanch  their  hunger  great, 
Which  had  not  eat  in  ten  days  fpace 

Not  one  fmall  bit  of  meat. 

But  Sod,  that  knows  all  fecrets,  :. 

The  matter  fo  contriv'd, 
That  by  this  young  mans  valour  ' 
'  They  were  of  life  depriv'd  ; 

For, 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  305 

For,  being   faint  for  food, 

They  fcarcely  could  withftand 
The  noble  force,  and  fortitude, 

And  courage  of  his  hand : 

For  when  the  hungry  lions 

Had  caft  on  him  their  eyes, 
The  elements  did  thunder 

With  the  echo  of  their  cries : 
And  running  all  amain 

His  body  to  devour, 
Into  their  throats  he  thruft   hil   arm!} 

With  all  his  might  and  power  : 

From  thence,  by  manly  valour, 

Their  hearts  he  tore  in  funder, 
And  at  the   king   he  threw  them, 

To  all   the  peoples  wonder. 
This  have  I  done,  quoth  he, 

For  lovely  Englands  fake, 
And  for  my  countrys  maiden  queen 

Much  more  vfill  undertake. 

But  when  the  king  perceived 

His  wrathful  lions  hearts, 
Afflidled  with  great  terror, 

His  rigour   foon  reverts  ; 
And  turned  all  his  hate 

Into  remorfe    and  love, 
And  faid,  It  is  fome  angel, 

Sent  down  fronj  heaven  above. 

VOL.  II.  X  No, 


306  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

No,  no,  I  am  no  angel, 

The  courteous  young  man  faid, 
But  born  in  famous  England, 

Where  Gods  word  is  obey'd  ; 
Affifted  by   the  heavens, 

Who  did  me  thus  befriend, 
Or  elfe  they  had,  mod  cruelly, 

Brought  here  my  life  to  end. 

The  king,  in  heart  amazed, 

Lift  up  his  eyes  to  heaven, 
And,  for  his   foul   offences 

Did  crave  to  be  forgiven  ; 
Believing  that  no  land 

Like  England  may  be  feen, 
No  people  better  governed 

By  virtue  of  a  queen. 

So,  taking  up  this  young  man, 

He  pardon'd  him  his  life, 
'And  gave  his  daughter  to  him, 

To  be  his  wedded  wife  : 
Where  then  they  did  remain, 

And  live  in  quiet  peace, 
'  In  fpending  of  their  happy  day» 

Jn  joy  and  loves  increafe. 


BALLAD 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  307 

BALLAD    XXI. 
THE    DRAGON    OF    WANTLEY. 

OL  D    ftories   tell,  how  Hercules 
A  dragon  flew  at  Lerna, 
With  feven  heads,  and   fourteen  eyes, 

To  fee  and   well  difcern  a  : 
But  he  had  a  club,  this  dragon  to  drub, 

Or  he  had  ne'er  done  it,  I  warrant  ye  : 
But  More  of  More- Hall,  with  nothing  at  all, 
He  flew  the  dragon  of  Wantley. 

This  dragon  had  two  furious  wings, 

Each  one  upon  each  fhoulder  j 
With  a  fting  in  his  tail,  as  long  as  a  flail, 

Which  made  him  bolder  and  bolder. 
He  had  long  claws,  and  in  his  jaws 

Four  and  forty  teeth  of  iron ; 
With  a  hide  as  tough  as  any  buff, 

Which  did  him  round  environ. 

Have  you  not  heard  that  the  Trojan  horfe 

Held  feventy  men  in  his  belly  ? 
This  dragon  was  not  quite  fo  big, 

But  very  near,  I'll  tell  ye. 
Devoured  he  poor  children  three, 

That  could  not  with  him  grapple  ; 
And,  at  one  fup,  he  eat  them  up, 

As  one  would  eat  an  apple. 

X  z  All 


308  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

All  forts  of  cattle  this  dragon  did  eat  ; 

Some  fay  he'd  eat  up  trees, 
And  that  the  forefts  fure  he  would 

Devour  up  by  degrees  : 
For  houfes  and  churches  were  to  him  geefe  and  turkeys, 

He  ate  all,  and  left  none  behind, 
But  fome  ftones,  dear  Jack,  which  he  could  not  crack, 

Which  on  the  hills  you  will  find. 

In  Yorkfhire,  near  fair  Rotheram, 

The  place  I  know  it  well ; 
Some  two  or  three  miles,  or  thereabouts, 

I  vow  I  cannot  tell  ; 
But  there  is  a  hedge,  juft  on  the  hill  edge", 

And  Mathews  houfe  hard  by  it ; 
O  there  and  then  was  this  dragons  den, 

You  could  not  ohoofe  but  fpy  it. 

Some  fay,  this  dragort  was  a  witch, 

Some  fay,  he  was  a  devil, 
For  from  his  nofe  a  fmoke  arofe, 

And  with  it  burning  friivel, 
Which  he  caft  off,  when  he  did  cough, 

In  a  well  that  he  did  (land  by  ; 
Which  made  it  look  juft  like  a  brook 

Running  with  burning  brandy.. 

Harci 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 


3°9 


Hard  by  a  furious  knight  there  dwelt, 

Of  whom  all  towns  did  ring  ; 

For  he  could  wreftle,  play   at  quarter-ftaff,  kick,  cuff, 
box,  buff, 

Call  fon  of  a  whore,  do  any  kind  of  thing  : 
By  the  tail  and  the  main,  with  his  hands  twain, 

He  fwung  a  horfe  till  he  was  dead  ; 
And  that  which  is  ftranger,  he,  for  very  anger, 

Eat  him  all   up  but  his  head. 

Thefe  children,  as  I  told,  being  eat, 

Men,  women,  girls  and  boys, 
Sighing  and  fobbing  came  to  his  lodging, 

And  made  a  hideous  noife ; 
O  fave  us  all,  More  of  More-Hall, 

Thou  peerlefs  knight  of  thefe  woods ; 
DO  but  flay  this  dragon,  who  won't  leave  us  a  rag  on, 

We'll  give   thee  all  our  goods. 

Tut,  tut,  quoth  he,  no  goods  I  want ; 

But  I  want,  I  want,  in  footh, 
A   fair  maid  of  fixteen,  that's  brifk, 

With  fmiles  about  the  mouth  ; 
Hair  black  as  a  floe,  both  above  and  below, 

With   a  blufh  her  cheeks  adorning; 
To  'noint  me  o'er  night,  ere  I  go  to  fight, 

And  to  drefs  me  in  the  morning. 

'X"«  This 


3io  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

This   being  done,  he  did  engage 

To  hew  this  dragon  down  ; 
But  firft  he  went  new  armour  to 

Befpeak  at  Sheffield  town  ; 
With  fpikes  all  about,  not  within  but  without, 

Of  fteel  fo  {harp   and  ftrong  ; 
Both  behind  and  before,  arms,  legs,  all  o'er  ; 

Some  five  or  fix  inches  long. 


Had  you  but  feen  him  in  this  drefs, 

How  fierce  he  look'd  and  big, 
You  would  have  thought  him  for  to  be 

An  Egyptian  porcupig  : 
He  frighted  all,  cats,  dogs,  and  all  ; 

Each  cow,  each  horfe,  and  each  hog, 
For  fear  did  flee,  for  they  took  him  to  be 

Some  ftrange  outlandifh  hedge-hog. 


To  fee  this  fight  all  people  there 

Got  up  on  trees  and  houfes, 
On  churches  fome  and  chimneys  too  ; 

But  they  put  on  their  trowfes, 
Not  to  fpoil  their  hofe.     As  foon  as  he  rofe, 

To  make  him  ftrong  and  mighty, 
He  drank,  by  the  tale,  fix  pots  of  ale, 

And  a  quart  of  aqua-vitae. 


It 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

It  is  not  ftrength  that  always  wins, 

For  wit  does  ftrength  excell ; 
Which  made  our  cunning  champion 

Creep  down  into  a  well  ; 
Where  he  did  think,  this  dragon  would  drink, 

And  fo  he  did  in  truth  ; 
And  as  he  ftoop'd  low,  he  rofe  up,  and  cried,  Boh  ! 

And  hit  him  in  the  mouth. 


Oh,  quoth  the  dragon,  pox  take  thee,  come  out, 

Thou  that  diiturb'ft  me  in  my  drink  : 
And  then  he  turn'd,  and  ftiit  at  him  ; 

Goodlaek  how  he  did  ftink  1 
"  Befhrew  thy  foul,  thy  body's  foul, 

Thy  dung  fmells  not  like  balfam  j 
Thou  fon  of  a  whore,  thou  ftink'ft  fo  fore, 

Sure  thy  diet  is  unwholefome," 


Our  politic  knight,  on  the  other  fide, 

Crept  out  upon  the  brink, 
And  gave  the  dragon  fuch  a  doufe, 

He  knew  not  what  to  think. 
By  cock,  quoth  he,  fay  you  fo  j  do  you  fee  ? 

And  then  at  him  he  let  fly, 
With  hand  and  with  foot,  and  fo  they  went  to't ; 

And  the  word  it  was,  Hey  boys,  hey  ! 

X4  Your 


A  N  C  I  ^  N  T    B  A  L  L  A  D  S. 

Your  words,  quoth  the  dragon,  I  don't  underftand  ; 

Then  to  it  they  fell  at  all, 
Like  two  wild  boars  fo  fierce,  I  may 

Compare  great  things  with  fmall. 
Two  days  and  anight,  with  this  dragon  did  fight 

Our  champion  on  the  ground  ; 

(Though  their  ftrength  it  was  great,  yet  their  fkill  it 
was  neat, 

They  never  had  one  wound. 

At  length  the  hard  earth  began  for  to  quake, 

The  dragon  gave  him  fuch  a  knock, 
Which  made  him  to  reel,  and  ftraightway  he  thought, 

To  lift  him  as  high  as  a  rock, 
And  thence  let  him  fall :  but  More  of  More-Hall, 

Like  a  valiant  fon  of  Mars, 
As  he  came  like  a  lout,  fo  he  turn'd  him  about, 

And  hit  him  a  kick  on  the  arfe. 

Oh,  quoth  the  dragon,  with  a  deep  figh, 

And  turn'd  fix  times  together, 
Sobbing  and  tearing,  curfing  and  fwearing 

Out  of  his  throat  of  leather  : 
More  of  More-Hall  !  O  thou  rafcal  ! 

Would  I  had  feen  thee  never  ; 
With  the  thing  at  thy  foot,  thou  haft  prick 'd  my  arfe- 

gut. 
And  I'm  quite  undone  for  ever. 

Murder, 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

Murder,  murder,  the  dragon  cried, 

Alack,  alack,  for  grief ; 
Had  you  but  mifs'd  that  place,  you  could 

Have  done  me  no  mifchief. 
Then  his  head  he  ftak'd,  trembled  and  quak'd, 

And  down  he  laid  and  cried  ; 
Firft  on  one  knee,  then  on  back  tumbled  he, 

So  groan'd,  kick'd,  flrit,  and  died. 


B  A  L  L  A    D     XXII. 

SIR    ANDREW    BARTON. 

WHEN  Flora  with  her  fragrant  flowers 
Bedeck'd  the  earth  fo  trim  and  gay, 
And  Neptune  with  his  dainty  mowers 

Came  to  prefent  the  month  of  May, 
King  Henry  would  a  progrefs  ride, 

Over  the  river  of  Thames  pafs'd  he, 
Unto  a   mountain  top  ajfo 

Did  walk  fome  pleafure  for  to  fee  j 

Where  forty  merchants  he  efpied,  , 

With  fifty   fail  come  towards  him, 
Who  then  no  fooner  were  arriv'd, 

But  on  their  knees  did  thus  complain  ; 
An't  pleafe  your  grace,  we  cannot  fail 

To  France  a  voyage  to  be  fure, 
But  fir  Andrew  Barton  makes  us  quail, 

And  robs  us  of  our  merchant-ware. 


Vex'd 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

Vex'd  was  the  king,  and  turning  him, 

Said  to  his  lords  of  high  degree, 
Have  I  ne'er  a  lord  within  my  realm, 

Dare  fetch  that  traitor  unto  me  ? 
To  him  replied  lord  Charles  Howard, 

I  will,  my  liege  with  heart  and  hand, 
If  it  pleafe  you  grant  me  leave  he  faid, 

I  will  perform  what  you  command. 

To  him  then  fpake  king   Henry, 

I  fear,  my  lord,  you  are  too  young. 
No  whit  at  all,  my  liege,  quoth  he, 

I  hope  to  prove  in  valour  ftrong. 
The  Scotifh  knight  I  vow  to  feek, 

In  what  place  foe'er  he  be, 
And  bring  afhore  with  all  his  might, 

Or  into  Scotland  he  mall  carry  me. 

A  hundred  men,  the  king  then  faid, 

Out  of  my  realm  ihall  chofen  be  ; 
Befides  failors  and  fhip-boys, 

To  guide  a  great  (hip  on  the  fea  ; 
Bowmen  and  gunners  of  good  {kill, 

Shall  for  this  fervice  chofen  be  ; 
And  they  at  thy  command  and  will, 

In  all  affairs  ihall  wait  on  thee. 

Lord  Howard  call'd  a  gunner  then, 

Who  was  the  beft  in  all  the  realm, 
His  age  was  threefcore  years  and  ten, 

And  Peter  Simon  was  his  name  : 

My 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  315 

My  lord  calPd  then  a  bow-man  rare, 

Whofe  aftive  hands  had  gained  fame, 
A  gentleman  born  in  Yorkflnre, 

And  William  Horfely  was  his  name. 

Horfely,  quoth  he,  I  muft  to  fea, 

To  feek  a  traitor  with  good  fpeed, 
Of  a  hundred  bow-men  brave,  quoth  he, 

I  have  chofen  thee  to  be  the  head. 
"  If  you,  my  lord,  have  chofen  me 

Of  a  hundred  men  to  be  the  head, 
Upon  the  main-maft  I'll  hanged  be, 

If  twelvefcore  I  mifs  one  millings  breadth." 

Lord  Howard  then,  of  courage  bold, 

Went  to  the  fea  with  pleafant  chear, 
Not  curb'd  with  winters  piercing  cold, 

Though  'twas  the  flormy  time  of  year. 
Not  long  he  had  been  on  the  fea, 

No  more  in  days  than  number  three, 
But  one  Henry  Hunt  there  he  efpied, 

A  merchant  of  Newcaftle  was  he. 

To  him  Lord  Howard  call'd  out  amain, 

And  ftriclly  charged  him  to  itand, 
Demanding  then  from  whence  he  came, 

Or  where  he  did  intend  to  land. 
The  merchant  then  made  anfwer  foon, 

With  heavy  heart,  and  careful  mind, 
My  lord,  my  fhip  it  doth  belong 

LTnto  Newcaftle  upon  Tine. 

Can'ft 


5i6  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

Can'ft  thou  mow  me,  the  lord  did  fay, 

As  thou  did'ft  fail  by  day  and  night, 
A  Scotilh  rover  on  the  fea, 

His  name  is  Andrew  Barton,  knight? 
At  this  the  merchant  figh'd  and  faid, 

With  grieved  mind  and  well-away, 
But  over-well  I  know  that  knight, 

I  was  his  prifoner  yefterday. 

As  I,  my  lord,  did  fail  from  France, 

A  Bourdeaux  voyage  to  take  fo  far, 
I  met  with  fir  Andrew  Barton  thence, 

Who  robb'd  me  of  my  merchant-ware  ; 
And  mickle  debts,  God  knows,  I  owe, 

And  every  man  doth  crave  his  own, 
And  I  am  bound  to  London  now  ; 

Of  our  gracious  king  to  beg  a  boon. 

Show  me  him,  faid  lord  Howard  then, 

Let  me  but  once  the  villain  fee, 
And  e'ery  penny  he  hath  from  thee  ta'en, 

I'll  double  the  fame  with  millings  three, 
Jsfow  God  forbid,  the  merchant  faid, 

J  fear  your  aim  that  you  will  mifs  ; 
God  blefs  you  from  his  tyranny, 

For  little  you  think  what  man  he  is. 

He  is  brafs  within,  and  fteel  without, 
His  {hip  moil  huge,  and  mighty  ftrong, 

With  eighteen  pieces  of  ordnance, 
He  carrieth  on  each  fide  along  : 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  317 

With  beams  for  his  top-caflle, 

As  being  alfo  huge  and  high, 
That  neither  Englifh  nor  Portugal 

Can  fir  Andrew  Barton  pafs'by. 

Hard  news  thou  fhow'ft,  then  faid  the  lord, 

To  welcome  ftrangers  to  the  fea  ; 
But,  as  I  faid,  I'll  bring  him  aboard, 

Or  into  Scotland  he  mall  carry  me. 
The  merchant  faid,  If  you  will  do  fo, 

Take  counfel  then  I  pray  withall, 
Let  no  man  to  his  top -cattle  go, 

Nor  ftrive  to  let  his  beams  down  fall. 

Lend  me  feven  pieces  of  ordnance  then, 

On  each  fide  of  my  (hip,  quoth  he, 
And  to-morrow,  my  lord,  'twixt  fix  and  feren 

Again  I  will  your  honour  fee : 
A  glafs  I'll  fet,  that  may  be  feen, 

Whether  you  fail  by  day  or  night, 
And  to-morrow,  be  fure,  before  feven, 

You  itall  fee  fir  Andrew  Barton,  knight. 

The  merchant  fet  my  lord  a  glafs, 

So  well  apparent  in  his  fight, 
That  on  the  morrow,  as  his  promife  was, 

He  faw  fir  Andrew  Barton,  knight. 
The  lord  then  fwore  a  mighty  oath, 

Now  by  the  heavens  that  be  of  might, 
By  faith,  believe  me,  and  by  troth, 

I  think  he  is  a  worthy  knight. 

Fetch 


3i8  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

Fetch  me  my  Lion  out  of  hand, 

Saith  the  lord,  with  rofe  and  ftreamer  high, 
Set  up  wichall  a  willow  wand, 

That  merchant  like  I  may  pafs  by. 
Thus  bravely  did  lord  Howard  pafs, 

And  did  on  anchor  rife  fo  high  ; 
No  top-fail  at  all  he  caft, 

But  as  a  foe  he  did  him  defy. 

Sir  Andrew  Barton  feeing   him 

Thus  fcornfully  to  pafs  by, 
As  though  he  cared  not  a  pin 

For  him  and  all   his   company  ; 
Then  call'd  he  for  his  men  amain, 

Fetch  back  yon  pedler  now,  quoth  he, 
And,  ere  this  way  he  come  again, 

I'll  teach  him  well  his  courtefy. 

A  piece  of  ordnance  foon  was  mot, 

By  this  proud  pirate  fiercely  thenv 
Into  lord  Howards  middle  deck, 

Which  cruel  mot  kill'd  fourteen  men, 
He  call'd  then  Peter  Simon,  he, 

Look  '  now'  thy  word  do  ftand  in  ftead, 
For  thou  lhalt  be  hanged  on  main  mart, 

If  thou  mifs  twelve-fcore  one  penny  breadth. 

Then  Peter  Simon  gave  a  mot, 

Which  did  fir  Andrew  mickle  fcare, 
In  at  his  deck  it  came  fo  hot, 

Kill'd  fifteen  of  his  men  of  war  : 

Alas, 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

Alas,  then  faid  the  pirate  flout, 

I  am  in  danger  now  I  fee  j 
This  is  Come  lord,  I  greatly  doubt, 

That  is  fet  on  to  conquer  me. 

Then  Henry  Hunt,  with  rigour  hot, 

Came  bravely  on  the  other  fide, 
Who  likewife  mot  in  at  his  deck, 

And  kill'd  fifty  of  his  men  befia'e : 
Then,  Out  alas,  fir  Andrew  cried, 

What  may  a  man  now  think  cr  fay  ? 
Yon  merchant  thief  that  pierceth  me, 

He  was  my  prifoner  yefterday. 

Then  did  he  on  Gordion  call, 

Unto  the  top-caflle  for  to  go, 
And  bid  his  beams  he  fhould  let  fall, 

For  he  greatly  fear'd  an  overthrow. 
The  lord  call'd  Horfely  then  in  hafle, 

Look  that  thy  word  now  ftand  in  flead, 
For  thou  mail  be  hanged  on  main-maft, 

If  thou  mifs  twelve-fcore  a  fhilling  breadth. 

Then  up  the  mail-tree  fwerved  he, 

This   flout  and  mighty  Gordion  ; 
But  Horfely  he,  moft  happily, 

Shot  him  under  his   collar-bone. 
Then  call'd  he  on  his  nephew  then, 

Said,  Sifters  fons  I  have  no  mo  ; 
Three  hundred  pound  I  will  give  to  thee, 

I  thon  wilt  to  the   top-callle  go. 


32o  A  N  C  I  E  N  T    B  A  L  L  A  D  S. 

Then  ftoutly  he  began  to  climb, 

From  off  the  mail  fcorn'd  to  depart ; 
But  Horfely  foon  prevented  him, 

And  deadly  pierc'd  him  to  the  heart. 
His  men  being  flain,  then  up  amain 

Did  this  proud  pirate  climb  with  fpeed, 
For  armour  of  proof  he  had  put  on, 

And  did  not  dint  of  arrows  dread. 

Come  hither  Horfely,  faid  the  lord, 

See  thou  thine  arrows  aim  aright : 
Great  means  to  thee  I  will  afford, 

And  if  thou  fpeed  I'll  make  thee  knight. 
Sir  Andrew  did  climb  up  the  tree, 

With  right  good  will,  and  all  his  main, 
Then  upon  the   breaft   hit   Horfely   he, 

Till  the  arrow  did  return  again. 

Then  Horfely  'fpied  a  private  place, 

With  a  perfect  eye  in  a  fecret  part ; 
His  arrow  fwiftly  flew  apace, 

And  fmote  fir  Andrew  to  the  heart. 
"  Fight  on,  fight  on,  my  merry  men  all, 

A  little  I  am  hurt,  yet  not  flain, 
I'll  but  lie  down  and  bleed  a  while, 

And  come  and  fight  with  you  again." 

* 

And  do  not,  faid  he,  fear  Englifh  rogues, 

And  of  our  foes  ftand  not  in  awe, 
But  ftand  faft  by  Saint  Andrews  crofs, 

Untill  you  hear  my  whittle  blow.— 

They 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  321 

They  never  heard  his  whittle  blow, 

Which  made  them  all  full  fore  afraid, 
Then  Horfely  faid,  My  lord,  aboard, 

For  now  fir  Andrew  Barton's  dead. 

Thus  boarded  they  this  gallant  ihip, 

With  right  good  will,  and  all  their  main, 
Eighteen  fcore  Scots  alive  in  it, 

Befides  as  many  more  were  flain. 
The  lord  went  where  ilr  Andrew  lay, 

And  quickly  then  cut  off  his  head  : 
*'  I  mould  forfake  England  many  a  day, 

If  thou  vvert  alive  as  thou  art  dead." 

Thus  from  the  wars  lord  Howard  came, 

With  mickle  joy  and  triumphing, 
The  pirates  head  he  brought  along, 

For  to  prefent  unto  the  king  : 
Who  briefly  then  to  him  did  fay, 

Before  he  knew  well  what  was  done, 
Where  is  the  knight  and  pirate  gay  ? 

That  I  myfelf  may  give  the  doom. 

You  may  thank  God,  then  faid  the  lord, 

And  four  men  in  the  fhip,  quoth  he, 
That  we  are  fafely  come  afhore, 

Sith  you  never  had  fuch  an  enemy  ; 
That  is,  Henry  Hunt,  and  Peter  Simon, 

William  Horfely,  and  Peters  fon  ; 
Therefor  reward  them  for  their  pains, 

For  they  did  fervice  in  their  turn. 

VOL,  II.  V  T 


ANCIENT    BALLADS, 

To  the  merchant  then  the  king  did  fay, 

In  lieu  of  what  he  hath  from  thee  ta'en, 
I'll  give  to  thee  a  noble  a  day, 

Sir  Andrews  whittle,  and  his  chain  : 
To  Peter  Simon  a  crown  a  day  ; 

And  half  a  crown  to  Peters  fon  ; 
And  that  was  for  a  fhot  fo  gay, 

Which  bravely  brought  fir  Andrew  down. 

Horfely  I  will  make  thee  a  knight, 

And  in  Yorkshire  thou  (halt  dwell  j 
Lord  Howard  mall  earl  Bury  hight, 

For  this  title  he  deferveth  well. 
Seven  millings  to  our  Englifh  men, 

Who  in  this  fight  did  ftoutly  Hand  ; 
And  twelve  pence  a  day  to  the  Scots  till  they 

Come  to  my  brother  kings  high  land. 


BALLAD    XXIII. 
JOHNY    ARMSTRONGS  LAST    GOOD -NIGHT. 

IS  there  never  a  man  in  all  Scotland, 
From  the  higheft  eftate  to  the  loweft  degree, 
That  can  mow  himfelf  now  before  the  king, 
Scotland  is  fo  full  of  treachery  f 

Yesr  there  is  a  man  in  Weftmoreland, 
And  Johny  Armftrong  they  do  him  call, 

He  has  no  lands  nor  rents  coming  in, 

Yet  he  keeps  eight  fcore  men  within  his  hall. 

He 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  323 

He  has  horfes  and  harnefsfor  them  all, 

And  goodly  Heeds  that  be  milk-white, 
With  their  goodly  belts  about  their  necks, 

With  hats  and  feathers  all  alike. 

The  king  he  writes  a  loving  letter,  * 

And  with  his  own  hand  fo  tenderly, 
And  hath  fent  it  unto  Johny  Armftrong, 

To  come  and  fpeak  with  him  fpeedily. 

When  John  he  look'd  this  letter  upon, 

Good  lord,  he  look'd  as  blithe  as  a  bird  in  a  tree  : 

"  I  was  never  before  a  king  in  my  life, 
My  father,  my  grandfather,  nor  none  of  us  three. 

But  feeing  we  maft  go  before  the  king, 

Lord  we  will  go  moft  gallantly  ; 
Ye  (hall  every  one  have  a  velvet  coat, 

Laid  down  with  golden  laces  three  : 

And  every  one  mall  have  a  fcarlet  cloak, 

Laid  down  with  filver  laces  five  ; 
With  your  golden  belts  about  your  necks, 

With  hats  and  feathers  all  alike." 

But  when  John  he  went  from  Giltnock-hall, 

The  wind  it  blew  hard,  and  full  faft  it  did  rain  : 

"  Now  fare  thee  well,  thou  Giltnock-hall, 
I  fear  I  mail  never  fee  thee  again." 

Y  z  Now 


3*4  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

Now  Johny  is  to  Edinburgh  gone, 

With  his  eight  fcore  men  fo  gallantly, 
And  every  one  of  them  on  a  milk-white  deed, 

With  their  bucklers  and  fwords  hanging  to  their  knee, 

But  when  John  came  the  king  before, 

With  his  eight  fcore  men  fo  gallant  to  fee, 

The  king  he  mov'd  his  bonnet  to  him, 

He  thought  he  had  been  a  king  as  well  as  he. 

0  pardon,  pardon,  my  fovereign  liege, 
Pardon  for  my  eight  fcore  men  and  me ; 

For  my  name  it  is  Johny  Armftrong, 

And  a  fubjeft  of  yours,  my  liege,  faid  he. 

"  Away  with  thee,  thou  falfe  traitor, 

No  pardon  will  I  grant  to  thee, 
But,  to-morrow  morning  by  eight  of  the  clock, 

I  will  hang  up  thy  eight  fcore  men  and  thee." 

Then  Johny  look'd  over  his  left  moulder, 
And  to  his  merry  men  thus  faid  he, 

1  have  aflc'd  grace  of  a  gracelefs  face, 

No  pardon  there  is  for  you  or  me. 

Then  John  pull'd  out  his  nut  brown  fword, 

And  it  was  made  of  metal  fo  free, 
Had  not  the  king  mov'd  his  foot  as  he  did, 

John  had  taken  his  head  from  his  fair  body. 

"  Come, 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  325 

"  Come,  follow  me,  my  merry  men  all, 

We  will  fcorn   one  foot  for  to  fly, 
It  fhall  ne'er  be  faid  we  were  hung  like  dogs, 

We  will  fight  it  out  moft  manfully." 

Then  they  fought  on  like  champions  bold, 
For  their  hearts  were  ilurdy,  (tout  and  free, 

Till  they  had  kill'd  all  the  kings  good  guard, 
There  was  none  left  alive  but  two  or  three. 

But  then  rofe  up  all  Edinburgh, 

They  rofe  up  by  thoufands  three, 
A  cowardly  Scot  came  John  behind, 

And  run  him  through  the  fair  body. 

Said  John,  Fight  on  my  merry  men  all, 
I  am  a  little  wounded,  but  am  not  flain, 

I  will  lay  me  down  for  to  bleed  a   while, 
Then  I'll  rife  and  fight  with  you  again. 

Then  they  fought  on  like  madmen  all, 
Till  many  a  man  lay  dead  upon  the  plain, 

For  they  were  refolved,  before  they  would  yield, 
That  every  man  would  there  be  flain. 

So  there  they  fought  courageously, 
Till  moft  of  them  lay  dead  there  and  flain  ; 

But  little  Mufgrave  that  was  his  foot-page, 
With  his  bonny  Griflel  got  away  unta'en. 


But 


326  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

But  when  he  came  to  Giltnock-hall, 

The  lady  fpied  him  prefently : 
*«  What  news,  what  news,  thou  little  foot-page, 

What  news  from- thy  mafter,  and  his  company  ?" 

My  news  is  bad,  lady,  he  laid, 

Which  I  do  bring  as  you  may  fee  ; 
My  mafter  Johny  Armftrong  is  flain, 

And  all  his  gallant  company. 

«'  Yet  thou  art  welcome  home,  my  bonny  Grifsel, 
Full  oft  thou  haft  been  fed  with  corn  and  hay, 

But  now  thou  malt  be  fed  with  bread  and  wine, 
And  thy  fides  (hall  be  fpurr'd  no  more,  I  fay." 

O  then  befpake  his  little  fon, 

As  he  fat  on  his  nurfes  knee, 
If  ever  I  live  to  be  a  man, 

My  fathers  death  reveng'd  mall  be. 


BALLAD    XXIV. 
THE    HUNTING   IN   CHEVY-CHASE. 

GO  D  profper  long  our  noble  king, 
Our  lives  and  fafeties  all  ; 
A  woeful  hunting  once  there  did 
In  Chevy-chafe  befall: 


To 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  327 

To  drive  the  deer  with  hound  and  horn, 

Earl  Percy  took  his  way ; 
The  child  may  rue  that  is  unborn 

The  hunting  of  that  day. 

The  flout  earl  of  Northumberland 

A  vow  to  God  did  make, 
His  pleafure  in  the  Scotifh  woods 

Three  fummers  days  to  take ; 

The  chiefeft  harts  in  Chevy-chafe 

To  kill  and  bear  away  : 
Thefe  tidings  to  earl  Douglas  came, 

In  Scotland  where  he  lay  ; 

Who  fent  earl  Percy  prefent  word 

He  would  prevent  his  fport : 
The  Englifh  earl,  not  fearing  this, 

Did  to  the  woods  refort, 

With  fifteen  hundred  bowmen  bold; 

All  chofen  men  of  might, 
Who  knew  full  well,  in  time  of  need, 

To  aim  their  fhafts  aright. 

The  gallant  greyhounds  fwiftly  ran, 

To  chafe  the  fallow  deer : 
On  Monday  they  began  to  hunt, 

When  day-light  did  appear  ; 

Y4  And, 


328  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

And,  long  before  high  noon,  they  had 

A  hundred  fat  bucks  flain  ; 
Then,  having  din'd,  the  drovers  went 

To  roufe  them  up  again. 

The  bowmen  mufter'd  on  the  hills, 

Well  able  to  endure  ; 
Their  backfides  all,  with  fpecial  care, 

That  day  were  guarded  fure. 

The  hounds  ran  fwiftly  through  the  woods, 

The  nimble  deer  to  take, 
And  with  their  cries  the  hills  and  dales 

An  echo  mrill  did  make. 

Lord  Percy  to  the  quarry  went, 

To  view  the  flaughter'd  deer  ; 
Quoth  he,  Earl  Douglas  promifed 

This  day  to  meet  me  here  ; 

If  that  I  thought  he  would  not  come 

No  longer  would  I  ftay. 
With  that  a  brave  young  gentleman. 

Thus  to  the  earl  did  fay  : 

Lo  !  yonder  doth  earl  Douglas  come, 

His  men  in  armour  bright ; 
Full  twenty  hundred  Scotifh  fpears 

All  marching  in  our  fight  j 


All 


ANCIENT    BALLADS.  329 

All  men  of  pleafant  Tividale, 

Faft  by  the  river  Tweed. 
Then  ceafe  your  fport,  earl  Percy  faid, 

And  take  your  bows  with  fpeed ; 

And  now  with  me,  my  countrymen, 

Your  courage  forth  advance  ; 
For  never  was  there  champion  yet, 

In  Scotland  or  in  France, 

That  ever  did  on  horfeback  come, 

But  if  my  hap  it  were, 
I  durft  encounter,  man  for  man, 

With  him  to  break  a  fpear. 

Earl  Douglas,  on  a  milk-white  Heed, 

Moft  like  a  baron  bold, 
Rode  foremoft  of  the  company, 

Whofe  armour  mone  like  gold  : 

Show  me,  faid  he,  whofe  men  you  be, 

That  hunt  fo  boldly  here  ; 
That,  without  my  confent,  do  chafe, 

And  kill  my  fallow-deer  ! 

The  man  that  firft  did  anfwer  make, 

Was  noble  Percy,  he  ; 
Who  faid,  We  lift  not  to  declare, 

Nor  fhow  whofe  men  we  be  : 


Yet 


Yet  we  will  ipend  our  dearefl.  blood, 
Thy  chiefeft  harts  to  flay. 

Then  Douglas  fwore  a  folemn  oath, 
And  thus  in  rage  did  fay  : 

Ere  thus  I  will  out-braved  be, 
One  of  us  two  fhall  die  : 

I  know  thee  well,  an  earl  thou  art, 
Lord  Percy,  fo  am  I. 

But  truft  me,  Percy,  pity  it  were, 

And  great  offence,  to  kill 
Any  of  thefe  our  harmlefs  men, 

For  they  have  done  no  ill : 

Let  thou  and  I  the  battle  try, 

And  fet  our  men  afide. 
Accurs'd  be  he,  lord  Percy  faid, 

By  whom  this  is  denied. 

Then  ftepp'd  a  gallant  fquire  forth, 
Witherington  was  his  name, 

Who  faid,  I  would  not  have  it  told 
To  Henry  our  king,  for  lhame, 

That  e'er  my  captain  fought  on  foot, 

And  I  flood  looking  on  : 
You  be  two  earls,  faid  Witherington, 

And  I  a  fquire  alone : 


I'M 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

I'll  do  the  beft  that  do  I  may, 
While  I  have  ftrength  to  ftand  ; 

While  I  have  pow'r  to  wield  my  fword, 
I'll  fight  with  heart  and  hand. 

Our  Englifh  archers  bent  their  bows, 
Their  hearts  were  good  and  true  ; 

At  the  firft  flight  of  arrows  fent, 
Full  threefcore  Scots  they  flew. 

To  drive  the  deer  with  hound  and  horn, 

Earl  Douglas  had  the  bent ; 
A  captain  mov'd  with  mickle  pride, 

The  fpears  to  fliivers  fent. 

They  clos'd  full  faft  on  every  fide, 

No  flacknefs  there  was  found ; 
And  many  a  gallant  gentleman 

Lay  gafping  on  the  ground. 

O  Chrift  !  it  was  a  grief  to  fee, 

And  likewife  for  to  hear 
The  cries  of  men  lying  in  their  gore, 

And  fcatter'd  here  and  there. 

At  laft  thefe  two  ftout  earls  did  meet, 
Like  captains  of  great  might ; 

Like  lions  mov'd,  they  laid  on  load, 
And  made  a  cruel  fight. 


They 


£          ANCIENT    BALLADS, 

They  fought  until  they  both  did  fweat, 

With  fwords  of  temper'd  Heel ; 
Until  the  blood  like  drops  of  rain, 

They  trickling  down  did  feel. 

Yield  thee,  lord  Percy,  Douglas  faid, 

In  faith  I  will  thee  bring 
Where  thou  flialt  high  advanced  be 

By  James  our  Scotifli  king  : 

Thy  ranfom  I  will  freely  give, 

And  thus  report  of  thee, 
Thou  art  the  moft  courageous  knight, 

That  ever  1  did  fee. 

No,  Douglas,  quoth  earl  Percy  then, 

Thy  proffer  I  do  fcorn  ; 
I  will  not  yield  to  any  Scot 

That  ever  yet  was  born. 

With  that  there  came  an  arrow  keen, 

Out  of  an  Englim  bow, 
Which  ftruck  earl  Douglas  to  the  heart, 

A  deep  and  deadly  blow  : 

Who  never  fpoke  more  words  than  thefe, 

Fight  on  my  merry  men  all ; 
For  why,  my  life  is  at  an  end, 

Lord  Percy  fees  my  fall. 


Then 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

Then  leaving  life,  earl  Percy  took 

The  dead  man  by  the  hand, 
And  faid,  Earl  Douglas,  for  thy  life 

Would  I  had  loft  my  land. 

O  Chrift  !  my  very  heart  doth  bleed, 

With  forrow  for  thy  fake  ; 
For  fure,  a  more  renowned  knight 

Mischance  did  never  take. 

A  knight  amongft  the  Scots  there  was, 

Which  faw  earl  Douglas  die, 
Who  ftraight  in  wrath  did  vow  revenge 

Upon  the  earl  Percy  : 

Sir  Hugh  Montgomery  was  he  call'd ; 

Who,  with  a  fpear  moft  bright, 
Well  mounted  on  a  gallant  fteed, 

Ran  fiercely  through  the  fight  j 

And  pafs'd  the  Englifh  archers  all, 

Without  all  dread  or  fear  ; 
And  through  earl  Percys  body  then 

Ke  thruft  his  hateful  fpear  : 

With  fuch  a  vehement  force  and  might 

He  did  his  body  gore, 
The  fpear  went  through  the  other  fide 

A  large  cloth-yard,  and  more. 


333 


So 


334  ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

So  thus  did  both  thefe  nobles  die, 

Whofe  courage  none  could  Itain  : 
An  Englifh  archer  then  perceiv'd 

The  noble  earl  was  flain : 

He  had  a  bow  bent  in  his  hand, 

Made  of  a  trufty  tree  ; 
An  arrow  of  a  cloth-yard  long 

Up  to  the  head  drew  he : 

Againft  fir  Hugh  Montgomery 

So  right  the  fhaft  he  fet, 
The  grey-goofe-wing  that  was  thereon 

In  his  heart-blood  was  wet. 

This  fight  did  laft  from  break  of  day 

Till  fetting  of  the  fun  ; 
For  when  they  rung  the  evening-bell 

The  battle  fcarce  was  done. 

With  the  earl  Percy  there  was  flain 

Sir  John  of  Ogerton, 
Sir  Robert  Ratcliffe,  and  fir  John, 

Sir  James  that  bold  baron : 

And,  with  fir  George,  and  good  fir  James, 

Both  knights  of  good  account, 
Good  fir  Ralph  Raby  there  was  flain, 

Whofe  prowefs  did  furmount. 


For 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

For  Witherington  needs  muft  I  wail, 

As  one  in  doleful  dumps ; 
For  when  his  legs  were  fmitten  off, 

He  fought  upon  his  ftumps. 

And  with  earl  Douglas  there  was  flaia 

Sir  Hugh  Montgomery ; 
Sir  Charles  Currel,  that  from  the  field 

One  foot  would  never  fly  ; 

Sir  Charles  Murrel  of  Ratcliffe  too, 

His  fitters  fon  was  he ; 
Sir  David  Lamb,  fo  well  efteem'd, 

Yet  faved  could  not  be. 

And  the  lord  Maxwell,  in  like  wife, 

Did  with  earl  Douglas  die  : 
Of  twenty  hundred  Scotifli  Ipears, 

Scarce  fifty  five  did  fly. 

Of  fifteen  hundred  Englimmen, 

Went  home  but  fifty  three : 
The  reft  were  flain  in  Chevy-chafe, 

Under  the  green  wood  tree. 

Next  day  did  many  widows  come, 

Their  hufbands  to  bewail ; 
They  wafh'd  their  wounds  in  brinifh  tears, 

But  all  would  not  prevail  t 


Their 


'33$  ANCIENT    BALLA0S. 

Their  bodies,  bath'd  in  purple  blood, 

They  bore  with  them  away  ; 
They  kifs'd  them  dead  a  thoufand  times, 

When  they  were  clad  in  clay. 

This  news  was  brought  to  Edinburgh, 

Where  Scotlands  king  did  reign, 
That  brave  earl  Douglas,  fuddenly 

Was  with  an  arrow  flain. 

0  heavy  news,  king  James  did  fay, 
Scotland  can  witnefs  be, 

1  have  not  any  captain  more 

Of  fuch  account  as  he. 

Like  tidings  to  king  Henry  came, 

Within  as  fhort  a  fpace, 
That  Percy  of  Northumberland 

Was  flain  in  Chevy-chafe. 

Now  God  be  with  him,  faid  our  king, 

Sith  'twill  no  better  be ; 
I  truft  I  have  within  my  realm, 

Five  hundred  as  good  as  he. 

Yet  fhall  not  Scot  nor  Scotland  fay, 

But  I  will  vengeance  take ; 
And  be  revenged  on  them  all, 

For  brave  lord  Percys  fake. 


Thif 


ANCIENT    BALLADS. 

This  vow  full  well  the  king  perform'd, 

After,  on  Humbledown ; 
In  one  day,  fifty  knights  were  flain, 

With  lords  of  great  renown  ; 

And  of  the  reft,  of  fmall  account, 

Did  many  hundreds  die. 
Thus  ended  the  hunting  of  Chevy-chafe, 

Made  by  the  earl  Percy. 

God  fave  the  king,  and  blefs  the  land 

In  plenty,  joy,  and  peace; 
And  grant,  henceforth,  that  foul  debate 

'Twixt  noblemen  may  ceafe. 


337 


VOL.  II. 


SONGS      OMITTED. 


IN     PART    II. 


BY    HARRY   t  A  R  E  Y.* 

CUPID  no  more  ihall  give  me  grief, 
Or  anxious  cares  opprefs  my  foul ; 
While  gen'rous  Bacchus  brings  relief, 
And  drowns  'em  in  a  flowing  bowl. 

Caelia,  thy  fcorn  I  now  defpife, 
Thy  boafted  empire  I  disown  ; 

This  takes  the  brightnefs  from  thy  eyes, 
And  makes  it  iparkle  in  my  own. 


•  Who  intitlei  it  «  A  DithyramVUk  fcr  «w«  voices." 


Z  2  HOW 


34<> 


SONGS    OMITTED. 


HO W Hands  the  glafs  around ? 
For  ftiame,  ye  take  no  care,  my  boys  \ 
How  ftands  the  glafs  around  ? 
Let  mirth  and  wine  abound  ! 
The  trumpets  found : 

The  colours  flying  are,  my  boys, 
To  fight,  kill,  or  wound  : 
May  we  ftill  be  found 

Content  with  our  hard  fare,  my  boys, 
On  the  cold  ground. 

Why,  foldiers,  why 

Should  we  be  melancholy,  boys ! 
Why,  foldiers,  why? 
Whofe  bufmefs  'tis  to  die  ? 
What !  fighing  ?  fie  ! 

Damn  fear,  drink  on,  be  jolly,  boys ! 
>Tis  he,  you,  and  I. 
Cold,  hot,  wet,  or  dry, 

We're  always  bound  to  follow,  boys, 
And  fcorn  to  fly. 

• 

*Tis  but  in  vain, 

(I  mean  not  to  upbraid  you,  boys) 
'Tis  but  in  vain 
For  foldiers  to  complain  : 
Should  next  campaign 

Send  us  to  Him  that  made  you,  boys, 
We're  free  from  pain  ; 
But  mould  we  remain, 

A  bottle  and  kind  landlady 
Cures  all  again. 

THE 


SONGS    OMITTED. 


34* 


THE    SCHOOL    OF    ANACREON. 
RECITATIVE. 

TH  E  feflive  board  was  met,  the  focial  band, 
Round  fam'd  Anacreon  took  their  filent  Hand  : 
My  friends  (began  the  fage)  be  this  the  rule, 
No  brow  auftere  mufl  dare  approach  my  fchool ; 
Where  Love  and  Bacchus  jointly  reign  within, 
Old  Care,  begone !  here  fadnefs  is  a  fin. 

AIR. 

Tell  me  not  the  joys  that  wait 

On  him  that's  learn'd,  on  him  that's  great, 

Wealth  and  wifdom  I  defpifei 

Cares  furround  the  rich  and  wife. 

The  queen  that  gives  foft  wilhes  birth, 

And  Bacchus  god  of  wine  and  mirth, 

Me  their  friend  and  fav'rite  own, 

I  was  born  for  them  alone. 

Buf'nefs,  title,  pomp  and  ftate, 

Give  them  to  the  fools  I  hate  j 

But  let  love,  let  life  be  mine  ; 

Bring  me  women,  bring  me  wine. 

Speed  the  dancing  hours  away, 

Mind  not  what  the  grave  ones  fay  j 

Gayly  let  the  minutes  fly, 

In  love  and  freedom,  wit  and  joy  : 

So  mall  love,  mail  life  be  mine ;    . 

Bring  me  women,  bring  me  wine.  . 

B  Y 


342  SONGSOMITTED. 

BY    PAUL    WHITEH1AD    E  S  Q^ 

WHEN  Bacchus,  jolly  god,  invites 
To  revel  in  his  ev'ning  rites, 
In  vain  his  altars  I  furround, 
Though  with  Burgundian  incenfe  crown'd  : 
No  charm  has  wine  without  the  lafs ; 
'Tis  love  gives  relifli  to  the  glafs. 

Whilft  all  around,  with  jocund  glee, 
In  brimmers  toaft  their  fav'rite  me  ; 
Though  ev'ry  nymph  my  lips  proclaim,' 
My  heart  ftill  whifpers  Chloes  name  ; 
And  thus,  with  me,  by  am'rous  ftealth, 
Still  ev'ry  glafs  is  Chloes  health. 

BY    MR.    ISAAC    B  1C  KE  R  S  T  A  F  F  *. 

HENCE  with  cares,  complaints,  and  frowning, 
Welcome  jollity  and  joy  ; 
grief  in  pleafure  drowning, 
Mirth  this  happy  night  employ. 

to  friendmip  do  our  duty, 
Laugh  and  fing  forne  good  old  ftrain  ; 
Prink  a  health  to  Love  and  Beauty  j 
May  they  long  in  triumph  reign. 

•  In  Love  in  a  Village. 


. 

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